


Liminal Space

by Leryline



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous Age, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Oikawa Tooru, Cheating, Chikan, Corruption, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Exhibitionism, First Time, Groping, Incest, M/M, Molestation, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Somnophilia, Spanking, Top Ushijima Wakatoshi, Underage Sex, Vibrators, but like... not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25277896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leryline/pseuds/Leryline
Summary: Wakatoshi was breathing softly. His skin was warm against the sheets, the body in his arms soft, if not a little restless. For a moment he thought he was in bed with his wife, as though her death had been nothing more than a nightmare. He nuzzled at the nape of the neck before his face; no, no, something wasn't right - his eyes snapped open and he found his son snoozing against his arm, sighing contentedly when Wakatoshi shifted to look at him properly. A part of him didn't want to let him go, but the rest of him knew he should, and so Wakatoshi carried Tooru back to his own room and laid him in his bed, tucking him in and tousling his hair.“Dad, wait,” Tooru mumbled when Wakatoshi made to leave, catching him by the hand. “We'll be together. You won't go away like mom, right?”“Of course not,” Wakatoshi promised.“Pinky swear?” Tooru held out his little finger. Wakatoshi linked it with his own."Pinky swear."
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 467





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i KNOW this account has been dead for 500 years. i intended it to be a graveyard archive after i moved to a new account, but i've gotten a metric fuckton of requests for this fic to be reuploaded, so I polished it up and did just that. tooru's age is intentionally ambiguous.
> 
> please note i haven't watched/read/had anything to do with haikyuu since 2016-ish. also if you're dumb enough not to heed the tags then that's on you. i will be leaving this account permanently so don't bother complaining in the comments bc i won't read them lol
> 
> **this is your last warning - heed the tags. don't eat the fucking dove.**

**1**

Tooru was ten years old when his mother died.

He and his mother had always been particularly close; it wasn't that his father didn't like spending time with them, but as the head of an international corporation, he rarely had the time. On the days Tooru's father had to stay overnight at the office or when he was on overseas trips for days at a time, it he always just been Tooru and his mother. He liked it that way; she'd been as pale and as lovely as the dawn, her fingers always gentle and her eyes always kind. She'd never hit him, not raised her voice at him, and somehow she was always there when he was afraid.

Tooru, now dressed in all black, sat on his heels in the funeral parlour staring vacantly at the framed photograph of his mother that sat above her casket.

It didn't feel like she was dead. Tooru felt largely the same as he did whenever his father was away - part of him was waiting for her to burst through the door and scoop him up into her arms. But no... this was her funeral. Rationally Tooru knew she wasn't coming back. But he couldn't help the hope that twisted round his heart like a wire round the frantic body of a bird.

He didn't turn when soft murmurs erupted from the back of the room, accompanied by the soft rush of the shōji doors being opened and closed. He didn't turn as the soft pad of footfalls approached him and someone sat down on the floor beside him. He didn't need to look. He already knew who it was. His father, undoubtedly; that man never so much as needed to announce himself. His presence was so heavy and powerful that everybody just  _ knew _ .

Ushijima Wakatoshi had gotten married to his wife fresh out of high school. They'd been sweethearts, as pure as could be. He'd loved her. She'd taken pity on him, had understood him in all the ways others didn't. She'd given him a beautiful son and her unwavering loyalty, which was all he could have ever asked for. They'd married early because she was sick, something they were both painfully aware of, and through his determination Wakatoshi had built and empire for the both of them, and soon their son as well. But no amount of money or medical care could make her better. And now she was gone.

He didn't know what to say to his son. The boy sat like a wilting flower beside him, beautiful and so full of sorrow. Should he hug him? Say something kind or reassuring, perhaps? Or should he leave him to himself? Tooru’s shoulders were slumped and he sagged despite his efforts to hold himself upright; Wakatoshi knew it was only a matter of time until the tears came, and he didn't know what he'd do when that happened. He'd never been the best at comforting others, even his child.  _ Especially  _ his child. That had always been his wife’s job - in fact, he’d often thought that his lack of emotional intelligence had been born in the mind of his wife, who could read others as successfully as Wakatoshi could read stock reports.

Tooru sniffled when the service began, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. Wakatoshi silently handed him a neatly pressed handkerchief from his breast pocket, and Tooru took it, crumpling it in his fingers and blowing his nose. After the service - when they were alone - Tooru began to howl and beat his fists against the floor, his grief transcending into a flood of emotion so overwhelming that he didn't know what to do with himself except scream. Wakatoshi had left long ago, presumably to drown himself in work, leaving Tooru with only his nanny for company, and even then she only sat by the window dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, paying no mind to the child she was supposed to be looking after.

“Papa,” Tooru hiccupped in need, but the house was empty, and Wakatoshi was not there. His nanny patted his back with her usual sigh of sympathy, but it did nothing for him, and he fled to his room instead.

* * *

Wakatoshi was allowed a year to mourn before his associates began to expect a new wife. Wakatoshi didn't appreciate the way his colleagues thought of women and wives as commodities, as  _ accessories _ , and he appreciated even less their expectations that he should marry again so soon. But even so, he took home the stack of black leather folders given to him by old men in starched suits, sitting in his office with a glass of scotch as he reviewed face after face of remarkably ordinary women. They were all daughters of rich businessmen and he knew that, realistically, marrying one of them would better the company. He also wanted Tooru to have a mother - he was no good at raising a son on his own, and he knew that. He needed a wife and Tooru needed a mother. That much, at least, he was sure of. As much as he hated to admit it, he was no good at raising children, at least not on his own - Wakatoshi wasn’t bad at many things, but this was one of them. The least he could do for Tooru was to give him someone who would mother him properly.

He refilled his scotch from the decanter on his desk. None of these women were what he was looking for. Of course, he’s not interested in a companion for himself: he needed a wife for his company and for his son and for his home. That was it. He flipped another of the proposal folders onto his desk, taking a sip of his drink as he opened it. The woman looked ordinary, with dark, sleek hair cut to just beneath her chin and eyes that glinted like little black gems. Something about them interested him; as he read on he saw that she was the daughter of the president of a large insurance firm, one that he’d been chasing an alliance with for a while. Yes, perfectly ordinary - Wakatoshi’s eyes drew lower over the page and found a golden phrase outlining her love for children. He sighed again. There were so many things he’d rather be doing than this, but it had to be done.

Now all that was left was to tell Tooru.

* * *

Wakatoshi stared down at the rippling surface of his coffee, his newspaper lying unread in his hands. Tooru hummed a tune from a television show from the other side of the table. Instead of eating his breakfast he was stirring his spoon in his cereal and swinging his legs from his chair. Wakatoshi looked at him for a few seconds, taking in the tranquillity of it all before he spoke.

“I am getting remarried.” The words slipped out of him - he’d meant to phrase it better, or to be a little more eloquent. Alas.

Tooru stopped humming and his spoon stopped moving, plunging the dining room into impenetrable silence. His hazel eyes were huge as he gazed in disbelief at his father, and after a few stunned moments Tooru dropped his spoon into his milk.

“You can't!” Tooru cried, his elbow knocking his glass of orange juice to the floor. Neither of them noticed the smash or Tooru's orange juice spilt all over the floor, fragments of broken glass swimming in the pulp. The boy glared up at his father with angry tears beading in the corner of his eyes, his fists clenched against the tabletop. Such a show of defiance would have usually been amusing (Tooru’s face was so open and beautiful that any anger was humorously twisted), but to Wakatoshi it was upsetting. He didn’t let Tooru know that, though.

“I can,” Wakatoshi corrected him and took another sip of his coffee. “And I will. I know what's best for you, Tooru, so please trust me. You'll like her.”

“I won't!” Tooru screamed back, defiance pinching his face tight. He launched himself out of his chair. “I'll hate her, you'll see how much I hate her! I already have a mom!” Betrayal rang clear in his voice and it was like a punch to the gut.

Wakatoshi tilted his head to the side, looking at his son as he hid his face and snivelled into his breakfast cereal. There was something so sad about it - almost pathetic, even - Tooru was so vulnerable and so sensitive, his wound still very raw; Wakatoshi couldn't help but think that he was prodding it a little too hard by announcing his marriage, especially so soon after Tooru’s mother’s death. But there was nothing to be done. Wakatoshi reached across the table and ruffled his son’s hair with a broad, warm hand. Tooru sniffled, looking up with big, watery eyes as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. His lips still quivered and he refused to meet his father’s eyes.

“Tooru, look at me.” Wakatoshi’s hand cupped Tooru’s chin, directing the boy’s gaze back to his face. Tooru looked at him with his watery red eyes, but he didn’t try to wrench himself away, which Wakatoshi thought was a step in the right direction. “We’ll be all right.”

Was that a smile flickering at the corners of Tooru’s lips? It might’ve been - Wakatoshi couldn’t tell.

Tooru nodded and swallowed thickly, fishing his spoon out of his cereal.

* * *

Tooru peeked into his parents’ bedroom. The room was huge and dark, only a slit of white moonlight shining through the break in the curtains. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw the shadow of the bed and the body in it; he blinked, and the body shifted a little bit.

He padded softly into the room, shivering from his head to his toes, sweaty hands clutching at his pyjama shirt. He couldn’t sleep - he’d been tossing and turning for hours without respite.

“Dad,” Tooru whispered, gently tapping Wakatoshi's shoulder. The huge body stirred at the touch, Wakatoshi rising from sleepiness with rumpled hair and a sleep-creased face. He was confused at first - Tooru had never wandered here before, even when he was young. The boy stood clutching his shirt, his eyes glancing around restlessly, teeth gnawing at his lower lip. “I can't sleep.”

Wakatoshi rubbed his face with his hand, sitting up on the edge of the bed so he could properly face his son. “Why not?” he asked, voice still husky with sleep.

“Because… I just can't.” Tooru shrugged and pouted in a way that moved people's hearts. Wakatoshi sighed heavily and reached down to lift the boy up by the armpits, pulling him into warm arms and holding him. Tooru immediately wrapped his own arms around his father’s neck, locking his thighs around his waist like some kind of little monkey. “Can I sleep in your bed? Please?” His words were muffled against the front of Wakatoshi's shirt, but he nodded, helping Tooru crawl across the wide, empty mattress and burrow beneath the covers. All Wakatoshi could see of him then was a pair of bright hazel eyes and a tuft of brown hair.

As Wakatoshi lowered himself down into the bed beside his son, Tooru wriggled closer. His heart was racing at the back of his throat - he'd never been this close to Wakatoshi before, he'd never felt his warmth like this. His cold little toes skimmed over the back of Wakatoshi's calf. Tooru paid close attention to the way his father’s form relaxed as he lay down, the depth of his sigh, the way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek when he closed his eyes. Determined, Tooru weaselled in closer, desperate to escape the cold loneliness. He figured he must have done something right, because Wakatoshi raised his arm and let Tooru ferret beneath it, laying his ear over Wakatoshi's chest and listening to the steady pace of his heart.

Tooru woke sometime in the mid morning. He felt weird. There was a weight on him, against his back and his stomach, that he wasn’t used to. Dozily, he opened his eyes and found Wakatoshi's arms wrapped around him, his weight anchored firmly to his father's chest. He wriggled a bit but Wakatoshi held him tighter, burying his face further into the crease between the back of Tooru's neck and the pillow.

“Hey…” Tooru patted Wakatoshi's wrist to try and wake him. When Wakatoshi didn't move, however, Tooru only lay back again. He kind of liked being like this, wrapped in Wakatoshi's secure warmth and strong arms.  _ He smells nice, _ Tooru thought sleepily, as though not once in his life had he realised that his father had a scent. It was a nice one, he decided, one of earth and the forest, a symphony of things Tooru knew but couldn't exactly name. He smelled like the colour purple and like the sound of rain. Something nice. Something.

Wakatoshi was breathing softly. His skin was warm against the sheets, the body in his arms soft, if not a little restless. For a moment he thought he was in bed with his wife, as though her death had been nothing more than a nightmare. He nuzzled at the nape of the neck before his face; no, no, something wasn't right - his eyes snapped open and he found his son snoozing against his arm, sighing contentedly when Wakatoshi shifted to look at him properly. A part of him didn't want to let him go, but the rest of him knew he should, and so Wakatoshi carried Tooru back to his own room and laid him in his bed, tucking him in and tousling his hair.

“Dad, wait,” Tooru mumbled when Wakatoshi made to leave, catching the man by the hand. “We'll be together. You won't go away like mom, right?”

“Of course not,” Wakatoshi promised.

“Pinky swear?” Tooru held out his little finger. Wakatoshi linked it with his own.

"Pinky swear."

* * *

**11:43pm**

Tooru was woken up by a loud bang against the wall. He jerked awake in shock, which morphed quickly into irritation when he realised the sound was coming from the master bedroom. Wakatoshi had been married to his new wife for a few years now, but Tooru never took to her and never accepted her. She was nice, sure, but far too ordinary for him. Wakatoshi seemed content with her, though, which Tooru knew he should find  _ good _ , but that only annoyed him even more. They’d been such a perfect unit when his mother was still alive and now that  _ woman  _ was here ruining everything. Tooru wished that woman had never even come into his life at all.

He shuddered when he heard a muffled cry. He hadn’t heard a sound like that before, but it sparked concern in him, somewhere deep in his gut, and it was enough to send him slipping out of bed and padding down the hall.

As he made his way towards his parents’ room the noises grew louder – the noises were undeniably feminine, high and soft and melodic. They were familiar, as if he’d heard sounds like that somewhere before, but couldn’t place exactly where. They sounded like the stifled grunts of pain he’d heard in films, but different somehow. Besides, his father wasn’t one to beat women anyway.

He got to the door and cracked it open, holding his breath as he did so. Just the tiniest bit, just enough to see inside.

What he saw made his heart race. His father was bent over his wife, his dark skin glistening and muscles writing as he moved over her. No, he wasn’t beating her. He was fucking her. That much, at least, was immediately obvious. Tooru couldn’t look away as Wakatoshi threw his head back, his entire body moving like a wave, his hair tousled and muscles tensed as he pulled his wife towards him over the bed. The cry came from the woman, high and clear, and Tooru shivered so violently his teeth nearly rattled.

Tooru couldn’t breathe. His heart swelled and beat hard in his throat when he saw Wakatoshi’s thick, slick cock draw sloppily along the white line of his wife’s thigh, glistening with her juices. His fingers bit into her pale skin, holding her down. Tooru’s face was on fire and his eyes burned. His body refused to move, his bones frozen and muscles locked into place, gaze riveted on the fingers pressed so deeply against flesh.

Wakatoshi’s eyes flicked up right to Tooru’s as he reared over the woman, as fierce and as primal as an animal, oddly bright in the half-darkness.

Suddenly Tooru’s body kicked into action and he fled as fast as his feet would carry him.

Tooru dove into his bed and buried himself as deep as he could. His heart still wouldn’t stop beating and his body wouldn’t stop burning. What he’d seen was burned into the back of his eyelids - he couldn’t unsee it. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.

He lay there as still as he could, waiting for his heart to slow and his skin to cool. The fire in his gut wouldn’t go away, though, no matter how hard he pressed his face into the sheets. All he could think about was his father’s fingers, the way his neatly-trimmed nails had scraped over soft skin, the promising presses of invisible bruises.

As he lay there, Tooru remembered the time one of his classmates had brought a porn magazine to school. He’d found it under his brother’s bed, apparently, and all the boys crowded around his desk to try and catch a glimpse of a supple thigh or the deep crevice between one of the model’s breasts. It had been a sea of middle school uniforms and sweaty temples, milling boys in the very throes of puberty thirsting after the women they couldn’t have. All of the boys Tooru knew were engulfed in fantasies like that, all of them imaginary and all of them unattainable.

With each solid beat of his heart, Tooru began to realise that perhaps he thirsted after something different. Perhaps he didn’t thirst so much for breasts, but rather for violent fingers; rather than a demurely covered pussy, he thought, he might just desire something else. Something he’d seen running the length of his stepmother’s thigh.

Tooru pressed his face into his hands and shuddered again, trying his very best to ignore the traitorous erection grinding against the sheets. He willed it to go away, but it just  _ wouldn’t _ , and soon his hand crept beneath the waistband of his pyjama pants as he turned his ears to the sounds of his stepmother moaning. But it wasn’t her he was thinking about as he curled a shaking, inexperienced hand around his cock. He’d done this before, of course - a middle school boy was expected to have urges like this, right? But… he’d never done it  _ to  _ something. Until now all his desire and arousal came pre-packaged beforehand, but this time… this time he was goaded along by the thought of fingers and cocks.

He grew closer. His chest began to heave, heat coiling tight in his belly, hips rising up into his hand. He bit down hard on his lower lip to try and stifle his own gasping breaths, listening as best he could to his stepmother’s moaning and connecting it to what her husband might be doing. So close, so close –

And then he saw those  _ eyes _ . Right in the centre of his mind’s eye, like a spotlight, and he came so violently his teeth broke the delicate skin of his lip, sending a pinprick of blood dancing across his tongue.

Tooru lay there with his chest heaving and his mouth bleeding, cum all over his hand and his navel, his legs like jelly. Something inside him was cold and horrified, but alongside it sat the warmth of contentment. His stepmother had stopped moaning. He couldn’t hear anything else.

Tooru couldn’t look his father in the eye the next morning.

Wakatoshi looked the same as he usually did at breakfast, marmalade spread generously over his toast and his cup of coffee steaming beside the newspaper. Both Wakatoshi and Tooru were silent, the chatter made up by the woman sat between them. Tooru stirred his cereal moodily, glowering down at it as he wallowed in his own self-hatred.

He wasn’t really sorry, though.

Sure, cumming to the thought of your father’s hands is fucked up. Tooru knew that much. But what could he do about it? So long as it remained a secret  _ never  _ to be repeated, then it didn’t matter. After a few minutes of deep thought, though, Tooru raised his eyes to his father. Wakatoshi was taking a bite of his toast, a dollop of marmalade streaked over the pad of his thumb. Tooru watched – transfixed – as Wakatoshi vacantly licked the marmalade away, his attention consumed by an article from the bulletin. He didn’t see Tooru staring. He didn’t see Tooru’s tongue dart out to swipe over the scab that had formed over his lip.

“I’m going to school,” Tooru mumbled abruptly, excusing himself and leaving both Wakatoshi and his wife sitting stunned at the dining table.

Wakatoshi could only think about one thing.

He had many things to think about, especially on Mondays when his desk was a mountain range of papers and reports and memos. Mondays were when his phone rang off the hook and when his secretary  _ really  _ earned his pay. He liked Mondays, though, because he liked to work. Wakatoshi was just that kind of person.

But the papers only stacked higher and the phone only kept ringing. Because Wakatoshi couldn’t think about the things he needed to think about. All he could think about was that single, hazel eye wide and shining with shock as it had peeped through the crack of the bedroom door. All he could think about was his son catching him fucking his wife. Why did it bother him so much? Why did it make him feel this strange? Unsettled, Wakatoshi hit a blinking button on the phone receiver.

“Goshiki,” he said into the receiver. “Come in here for a second.”

“Yes, immediately!” came the reply and the static. Moments later the door burst open, revealing a young man with bright cheeks and dark, sleek hair that reminded Wakatoshi very much of his wife’s. “How can I help, sir?”

Wakatoshi beckoned Goshiki into the room and motioned for him to shut the door. “You’re not married, are you?” he asked. Goshiki shook his head.

“No, but my sister is. She lives at home with us still.”

“With her husband?”

“Yes.”

Wakatoshi hummed, drawing the tip of his pen cap over the document he was (supposed to be) reviewing. “Do they have children?”

“Oh, yes! My niece!” Goshiki’s cheeks coloured as he smiled, obviously fond of the memory. “Um, yes. A daughter.”

“Has she ever caught them having sex?”

Goshiki stood dead still for a few moments, his face flushed brightly with a mix of confusion and embarrassment. “I… I don’t know?” Somehow it came out as a question. “Probably… sir, may I ask why you’re asking me this?”

Wakatoshi leaned back in his seat and rubbed a hand over his face. “My son. He caught me and my wife having sex. I am not sure what to do about it.”

“Oh.” Goshiki nodded seriously, rubbing his fingers over his chin. “I don’t think it’s anything to be worried about, sir. He’ll probably forget it soon enough.”

Wakatoshi was oddly comforted by Goshiki’s words. The young man wore a lopsided smile that was nothing but genuine; he reminded Wakatoshi of a puppy most of the time, but he had his perks. “You’re probably right. Thank you.”

Goshiki bowed shortly and left, leaving Wakatoshi to the silence of his office again. He tapped his pen against his desk, the constant ticking giving some leverage to his thoughts; was he worried that Tooru had seen them? Or was it the fact that the moment their eyes had made contact, something inside Wakatoshi had short-circuited and he’d pressed his wife into the mattress trying his hardest  _ not  _ to imagine somebody else? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he  _ wanted  _ to know.

By the end of the day he hadn’t gotten any work done. He resolved to spend the night in the office.

* * *

Tooru bought his first dildo not long after that.

He’d begun tentatively browsing gay porn, making sure to meticulously clean out his cache afterwards. It did nothing for him, though. From porn he went to dildos and just happened across one that looked vaguely familiar; before he knew it he’d paid for it. A few days later it turned up in a nondescript brown box at the post office. Tooru went to pick it up alone and smuggled it back into the house with electricity crackling through his gut. When he unpacked it he sat staring for more minutes than he cared to count.

The first time he used it was in the shower. His stepmother had called him and told him that Wakatoshi was staying overnight at the office and that she was going to visit her sister, leaving Tooru on his own. So he took his new toy into the shower and used the suction cup to stick it to the wall, turning on the water to mask the sounds he knew he was going to make.

He put the toy to his lips first. Tooru’s lips were soft and fleshy, springy with youth and pink with a constant blush that his mother’s friends always used to coo over. Those lips that had so purely kissed his mother’s cheek now pressed against the head of the silicone cock, and he tentatively moved his tongue over it. It felt odd in his mouth, like it wasn’t really supposed to be there, but he persevered; once Tooru put his mind to something he would achieve it no matter what.

The toy glided over the fleshy plane of his tongue and hit the back of his throat; when it did, Tooru gagged and pulled off with a number of shallow coughs. Blinking dampness from his eyes he tried again, and  _ again _ , until he didn’t gag so violently anymore, and until he could move his tongue around the shaft while beginning to work it down his throat.

Tooru tried hard not to let his imagination run away, he really did. But he just couldn’t  _ help  _ it – he was drunk on the memory of Wakatoshi’s cock, the thickness of it, the way it glistened with stickiness. Tooru wondered how it would taste if it was forced down his throat – he imagined Wakatoshi’s big hands in his hair, forcing his meaty cock down the boy’s throat until his gullet bulged and he was blinded by tears. Spurred on by his filthy thoughts, Tooru began to force the dildo deeper down his throat, the sensation of it – the  _ sting  _ – making his own cock react between his legs. It was dripping precum onto the floor of the tub in no time.

He popped off the toy and licked his lips. His curiosity was rising like a tide in him; he got to his feet and turned around so the toy slid in between his slick thighs, pushing up against his perineum until the head slid over the tight pucker of his ass.

“Ah,” he sighed, reaching behind him to direct the dildo to press against his hole. Of course it wouldn’t go in – but Tooru had been practicing,  _ experimenting _ . He fingered himself open, feeling the slickness of his insides part around him.

He quickly had three fingers inside himself, pumping in and out, stretching the stubborn ring of muscle until it gave; only then did he press back onto the dildo, his breath hanging shallow in his chest as the broad head began to slowly breach his entrance. He couldn’t breathe – closing his eyes he imagined Wakatoshi’s cock instead, how it would feel parting him open like this, what faces he’d make, what he’d sound like. Every pore of Tooru’s skin rose at the sinfulness of it.

“Dad,” he breathed as he seated himself further and further back on the toy. Once it was comfortable he began to move, thrusting himself up and down in the length, gasping at each catch and pull of the plastic against his insides. His eyes were rolling back into his head in pleasure, the toy managing to reach places inside him he hadn’t been able to feel with his fingers. “Dad,” he cried again, his hand jerking furiously at his cock. He slammed his ass back against the wall when he came, the quivering flesh of his ass pressed to the cold tile, his orgasm so strong that it felt like all his energy was being drained out through his cock.

But in the end it was hard, cold plastic. Tooru wanted something else.

And he was determined to get it.

* * *

When Wakatoshi got home it was just after three o’clock in the morning. All the lights in the house were off and his wife’s car wasn’t in the driveway – she’d called him to tell him she was visiting his sister, so he wasn’t concerned in the slightest. He’d finally finished his work and his main concern was going to bed.

Usually Wakatoshi loved the liminal eeriness of the early hours of the morning. But this time he was too tired to appreciate the silence and the thinness of the air this time, and he let himself into the house quickly and as quietly as he could so as not to wake Tooru.

Wakatoshi’s plan had been to go straight to his bedroom, shower, and go to sleep. But his plan suddenly fractured into tiny little pieces when he heard footsteps on the second floor landing. He looked up and saw Tooru standing at the top of the stairs, his hair rumpled, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. “Welcome home,” he mumbled.

Wakatoshi didn’t reply. He made his way up the stairs, his eyes riveted on Tooru’s long, pale legs that seemed to go on for miles before disappearing beneath the hem of his shirt…  _ his _ shirt? Had his legs always been so long? That was Wakatoshi’s shirt, and it was  _ far  _ too big for Tooru. It was almost a dress on him.

A part of Wakatoshi didn’t entirely mind, though.

“What are you doing awake?” Wakatoshi asked when he reached the top of the stairs. Tooru shrugged in reply, glancing away nonchalantly and rocking onto the balls of his feet.

“Couldn’t sleep.” It was a weak reply, sure, but Wakatoshi couldn’t exactly question it. Tooru watched as his father rubbed an exasperated hand through his hair and sighed.

“Try and go to bed, Tooru, you have school tomorrow.” With that, Wakatoshi sidled past his son and made his way towards his own bedroom, unaware of Tooru padding along behind him.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Tooru asked quietly.

“You’re too old for that kind of thing,” Wakatoshi said firmly. “Besides, your mother is coming home early tomorrow.”

Tooru flinched. “She’s not my  _ mother _ ,” he gritted out. All of his will to sweetly cajole disappeared as he followed Wakatoshi angrily along the hall towards the master bedroom, his eyes burning against the broad shoulder of Wakatoshi’s coat. “God, are you scared of taking care of me?” he bit out as Wakatoshi dropped his briefcase in the armchair by the door and shrugged off his coat. “You’re my dad. It’s your  _ job. _ ”

His words cut deep, but Wakatoshi had been expecting them for a while now. He’d been expecting the hollowness of those words. He shook his head, then, loosening his tie and turning around to gently touch his fingers to the underside of Tooru’s chin, cupping it as he used to do when he was small. Tooru averted his eyes and pouted. But he didn’t move away.

“You have to understand, Tooru, that I’m… no good at this kind of thing. Children were something your mother – your real mother – wanted.”

“So you didn’t want me?” Tooru’s expression grew tight with hurt.

“Of course I did. But I’m no good. I’m no good at this.”

Tooru tilted his head to the side, leaning into the touch as one might lean into a breeze. He understood, in a way – he didn’t resent Wakatoshi’s inability to connect to children, not even to him, because he didn’t do it on purpose. It was just a natural inability.

A silence passed between them before Wakatoshi sighed, taking his hand away and turning to hide his frown. “Fine.”

Tooru cocked his head to the side. Fine?  _ Fine what?  _ He stood awkwardly as Wakatoshi disappeared into the bathroom. The shower turned on a little after that, and Tooru began to skulk around the room. He used to be familiar with it, but now that  _ that woman  _ had moved in, things had changed. His mother’s jewellery box had been moved, replaced with a garish little statuette of a cabaret dancer that his stepmother used to hang her rings and her bracelets. He wrinkled his nose at it in distaste. Beside it was a box his father kept his watch in; Tooru opened it, watching the little hands ticking away until the water shut off and the bathroom door opened again.

“Just tonight,” Wakatoshi said as he lowered himself down onto the edge of the bed, flicking his damp hair out of his face. Tooru had already hopped onto the wide bed, bouncing on his hands and knees towards the middle of it. He’d already flopped onto his stomach by the time Wakatoshi lay down on his back. Wakatoshi knew there was no point in trying to send Tooru away – after all, what Tooru wants Tooru gets, and Wakatoshi knew this better than perhaps anybody in the world.

“Lift your arm. Do I have to do  _ everything  _ myself?” Tooru grumbled and butted his shoulder against Wakatoshi’s bicep. He raised his arm, then, letting Tooru wriggle beneath it and snuggle up to him, still grumbling and frowning.

Wakatoshi wasn’t about to lie to himself – having Tooru tucked under his arm like this spread comfort throughout his body, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in years. It was different to his new wife’s body: hers was soft and feminine, full of wide curves and sweet floral fragrances. Tooru, though, was distinctly boyish, lean and muscly and angular. He had his own softness, though, which Wakatoshi could feel beneath the fingertips that lay on his son’s upper arm, just above his elbow. His hair was soft. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. He didn’t smell sweet, exactly, but he was fragrant, like seaside air. He’d grown so much taller and his limbs were long and slender and beautiful. All of him was beautiful. Like some kind of meandering river.

_ He’s your son, _ a little voice taunted him. Wakatoshi tried to shove it out of his mind – there was nothing wrong with appreciating how much his son has grown, was there? He wasn’t a little boy anymore. There was no harm in that.

Wakatoshi fell asleep incredibly quickly. Maybe he was just tired, or maybe the comfort of having Tooru so close to him sent him to sleep sooner than he was used to. Either way, Wakatoshi slept like a log, as did Tooru, right until the watery light of dawn filtered through the curtains. It was Wakatoshi who stirred first, waking to the fresh bite of cold air as he raised his face from the pillow. It took him a while to realise where he was and  _ who  _ he was with – Tooru was still dead to the world and didn’t so much as stir when Wakatoshi shifted a little behind him.

The boy was curled comfortably against Wakatoshi’s chest, his long legs following those of his father, like two puzzle pieces fit perfectly together. He smelled like the seaside at dawn, he smelled  _ liminal _ , and before Wakatoshi could stop himself he pressed his nose to Tooru’s hair and breathed in deep. Something inside him reacted to it and his arms drew tighter around the body in his arms.

Tooru hummed sleepily, wriggling further back into Wakatoshi’s warm arms. His head tilted back in sleep, the crown of his head nestled in the crook of Wakatoshi’s neck, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. Wakatoshi gently raised the arm beneath Tooru’s head, bending it at the elbow to stroke the hair back from the boy’s fair face. Yes, liminal did indeed seem to be the right word… his mother was like a fairy in many ways, and while Tooru had inherited some of Wakatoshi’s earthliness there was still something vaguely mystical about him.

Wakatoshi paused when Tooru wriggled again. The boy had pushed himself back as far as he could, the gentle curve of his backside and his thighs pressed into Wakatoshi’s groin. Wakatoshi’s muscles were locked into place. He couldn’t  _ move _ . He couldn’t slip away nor could he push Tooru off.

Tooru pushed back with a sigh. He was caught up in a dream, probably, but that didn’t stop him from pushing his ass back into places it  _ definitely  _ should not have gone. The pressure made Wakatoshi choke, his other hand hovering just over Tooru’s hip. He wasn't game to touch him; what if he woke up? The last thing Wakatoshi wanted was for Tooru to think he was doing something bad. Like getting off on Tooru’s soft hips pressed so snugly against his groin. Which wasn't getting him hot at all.

Except… it was. With dawning horror, Wakatoshi realised that the queasiness coiling in his gut wasn't queasiness at all, but the beginnings of arousal. Wakatoshi was stuffy about the collar and the column of his spine began to tingle. This was bad - if he tried to move, Tooru would wake up and hate him for the rest of his life. Wakatoshi's breathing became shallow and the rational part of his mind told him to bolt for the bathroom before Tooru woke up of his own accord; his body, however, seemed to have its own opinion. His hips thrust shallowly against the curve of Tooru's ass, the half-hard ridge of Wakatoshi's cock sliding up the cleft between his son’s soft cheeks. He was suddenly gripped by the urge to grab them, to knead the soft flesh between his fingers, and his throat closed tight as he began to rut against Tooru's pliant body, white-hot heat blooming at the top of his spine and infecting his brain with a haze of imaginings of him grabbing Tooru and pressing him into the bed and fucking him absolutely senseless, splitting apart his glistening pink hole (because it couldn't not be pretty, Wakayoshi rationalised, since the rest of him was gorgeous) with his cock -

Wakatoshi pressed his face into Tooru's hair again, trying his best to hide the violent shudder of his body as he came in his pants, his clothed cock still buried against the seat of Tooru's boxer briefs.

His body burned. He'd never felt so hot before. Each cell of his body was on fire and it took all his self-control not to take his son and fuck him right there. Guilt wracked through him aside his arousal: how could he think like that? How could he even entertain the thought of doing something so horrible to Tooru? Just because he has a beautiful face and soft hair and heavenly thighs that Wakatoshi would  _ really  _ love to bury his face between -

Tooru began to stir in his arms, sighing happily, completely oblivious to what had just happened. Wakatoshi pulled away from him as though he'd been scalded, pushing himself out of bed and heading straight into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He stood against the door breathing hard with uncomfortably sticky pants and sweating palms. He could practically see Tooru sitting up and rubbing his eyes, yawning and stretching his sleepy body. Wakatoshi pressed his fists to his eyes and swore to himself.

Tooru stared at the bathroom door in hazy confusion. What had gotten Wakatoshi into such a fluster? A nightmare, maybe. Tooru scratched at the back of his neck and yawned; he hadn't slept so well in ages. He'd had a few strange dreams though, mostly including Wakatoshi and the nagging pleasure that tugged at his groin. His briefs, he noticed, were skewed tightly over his ass. He thought nothing of it.

Wakatoshi was on his way out the door when Tooru got downstairs. “You're leaving early,” he said, and Wakatoshi looked up, one shoe on and one shoe off.

“Yes.” His voice was dazed. His eyes were riveted and brighter than Tooru remembered them being.

“Have a good day, then,” Tooru continued. “Think of me.” With that he disappeared into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast.

That might be the issue. Wakatoshi wasn't entirely sure what to think or what to feel. On one hand, he felt guilty enough to effectively turn himself over to the police. On the other hand, all he wanted to do was to be in that exact same position again.

_ I am the worst person in the world, _ Wakatoshi thought. The worst person and the worst father. To desire his son like this… how could he? He'd always been so proud of Tooru, so proud of his talents and his general existence. And now this. He just had to keep any untoward thoughts at bay while at the office. Just until then.

* * *

Tooru knew he was headed down the road to disaster. He stared down at his hands and his long fingers in thought until he was clapped on the shoulder by his classmates.

“You've been out of it,” Issei observed as he dropped himself into the empty seat beside him. Tooru propped his chin up on his hand and pouted at nobody in particular. Issei wasn't wrong. He  _ had _ been spacing out.

But it wasn't like he could exactly tell his friends why, though. Yeah. He definitely couldn't do that.

“Just thinking about something,” he offered, but Issei didn't look convinced.

“Ooh, is it a  _ girl _ ?” one of the other boys crowed, and Tooru snapped his teeth in a sneer.

“No way,” he spat back with mock disgust. It wasn't a girl he was thinking about. That was for sure.

He had devised a plan. It was an evil plan but a practical one; it was one that required him to drop into the pharmacy on the way home from school and pick up a box of high-strength sleeping pills. His heart hammered against his ribs as he bought them, the box like a weight at the bottom of his schoolbag. He was as nervous as he was excited.

Wakatoshi didn't stay late that evening. He came home just as his wife was leaving to go out to dinner with her own colleagues and they exchanged pleasantries at the door before parting ways.

It was Tooru who offered to pour him a glass of scotch. This wasn't unusual for Tooru, so Wakatoshi just thanked him and headed to his bedroom to change. Tooru crushed two of the pills on the kitchen bench between the marble countertop and the back of the spoon, stirring them around in the scotch until they dissolved completely. His heart sat fat and heavy in his throat as he brought the drink to his father, quickly ducking out of the room and heading over to the study across the hall.

Wakatoshi was thankful for the silence and solitude after Tooru left. After changing out of his work clothes he lay down, settling into the soft embrace of his bedsheets. It was probably stress, he thought, and begged at least for a sleep deep enough to keep any thoughts of Tooru far from his mind.

Tooru waited anxiously in the study across the hall. He sat at the chess table, tipping the pieces between his fingers as he waited, his heart beating in time to the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. He glanced at the clock face every now and again. Five minutes. Twenty minutes. An hour. After an hour, Tooru plucked up the courage to go and check on his father and see if the drugs had worked. He crept across the hall and cracked open the door to see Wakatoshi lying dead to the world, his breath coming deep and even as he slept.

Tooru crept into the room, crawling on his hands and his knees over the bed until he sat by Wakatoshi’s knees. He tentatively knocked his knuckles against his father’s thigh to see if he'd respond. He didn't. Even his breathing didn't hitch when Tooru shook him.

Licking his lips, Tooru's shaking fingers touched against the waistband of Wakatoshi's pyjama pants. He hooked his fingers beneath it and drew them down ever so slightly; with each passing second he felt a little drunker, as though his body had been possessed and his movements weren't entirely his own. He needed it. He needed to  _ see  _ it.

Wakatoshi's cock lay fat and meaty against his thigh. Even flaccid, it was large, the base crested by a thick patch of dark, wiry hair that crawled up Wakatoshi's hips towards his navel and under his shirt. Tooru held his breath in anticipation, waiting for Wakatoshi to suddenly wake up and beat him to within an inch of his life (not that he'd mind). But he didn't. So Tooru touched the very tips of his fingers to the cock before his face, taking it ever so gently into his hand and giving it an exploratory stroke. Something twitched against his palm as he stroked again, his tongue caught between his lips as he lowered himself between Wakatoshi's legs. His hand moved faster and Wakatoshi's cock grew harder and bigger. Precum beaded at the tip and Tooru swiped at it with his thumb; that had been it. Wakatoshi's cock was as hard as it possibly could be, turgid with blood and delicious, wrapped around with thick veins. Tooru's mouth almost watered at the sight of it.

He couldn't get his mouth on it fast enough. Initially he'd only wanted to _see it,_ and then only to touch it, but now he had to taste it. Just a little bit was okay, right? Just a little bit. Then he'd leave.

He pressed his pink, fleshy lips to the tip of Wakatoshi's cock, his tongue flicking out against the slit. It was salty in taste, as if Tooru had licked the inside of his wrist after he'd gone for a run. The taste was intoxicating and the smell was heady and pungent as it suffocated his senses. He sunk his mouth further down on the swollen flesh invading his mouth and tried to use his tongue like he did on his toy. Wakatoshi was bigger than his toy. He was thicker. The cock in his mouth was  _ alive _ and reacting to his touches, growing wetter and stickier by the second, swelling and stretching Tooru’s lips to what felt like breaking point.

Wakatoshi groaned above him and Tooru almost jumped clear out of his skin, a cold stone of terror settling at the bottom of his stomach. But the man didn't wake up. He only spread his thighs a little bit and let his head fall to the side with a soft huff. Tooru’s courage slowly returned to him and he slipped his mouth around Wakatoshi’s cockhead again, suckling at it and lavishing it with attention. Tooru's eyes glazed over with lust as he began to rut his own hips against the sheets, working his mouth fervently over his father's cock, his tongue administering both kitten licks and wet, sloppy kisses to the thick shaft. God, it felt so  _ good _ \- Wakatoshi's thighs tightened beneath his hands and Tooru stuffed as much of his cock into his throat as he could before he hit his climax. When Wakatoshi came, he came like a fire hose, gushing load after load straight down Tooru's throat and into his belly. The boy swallowed it all down dutifully, savouring the overwhelming taste and viscosity of it - even then, there was too much, and he gagged as it flooded his mouth and bubbled from the corners of his lips. By the time Tooru popped off his cock, his stomach felt bloated with cum. He licked Wakatoshi's cock clean and hastily pulled up his pants to cover his tracks, staring down at the soft weave of the fabric in shock, tainted only slightly with lust. Fuck, he wanted to sit on it and ride it until his brain melted - but he'd already gone far enough, hadn’t he?

Apparently not.

Still on his knees, Tooru sat himself squarely on Wakatoshi's lap and began to grind. Lust was a funny thing – it made people do funny things like drug their father’s scotch and dry hump his dick. Tooru’s cock was rock hard and tented his pants, but he didn't dare touch it for fear of exploding immediately if he did. Instead, he satisfied himself by grinding his ass over the bulge of Wakatoshi's cock, feeling it react beneath him until it was hard again, sliding up against the cleft of Tooru's ass.

“Dad,” Tooru moaned in a whisper, bracing his hands on Wakatoshi's broad chest to give himself more leverage. If he closed his eyes he could imagine that their clothes weren't there, that Wakatoshi's cock was spearing into him and melting his bones, that those strong hands were anchored to his hips and crushing every bone in his body. “Fuck me, dad -,”

A hand clamped down on his thigh and Tooru almost screamed. He jumped violently, every muscle in his body clenching and his eyes flying open. He looked down. It was Wakatoshi's hand gripping his thigh - he recognised it immediately by the thickness of the fingers and the raised veins on the back of the hand. Tooru, quite quickly filled with cold dread, let his gaze wander to his father's face. His eyes were open. He'd been caught.  _ Shit. _

Tooru wanted to plead his case, to cry or apologise or beg for forgiveness or  _ something _ \- but he was frozen beyond the point of even stammering. Beyond the point of thinking.

“What are you doing?” Wakatoshi demanded in a voice still husky with sleep. Had the drugs not been strong enough? Had he not drunk it all? Tooru’s mind was spinning so fast it was surprising that his head hadn’t spun right off his shoulders. “What are you  _ saying _ ?” Something in his expression was cloudy and violent. Tooru shuddered at the sight of it, cock twitching.

“I didn't -,” Tooru began, but he didn't get a chance to finish. Wakatoshi was not interested in excuses, it seemed, and instead threw him off, casting Tooru onto his back against the sheets. In a moment he was pinning the boy down, eyes aflame and lips pressed into a thin, tight line. Tooru was breathless with fear.

But Wakatoshi didn’t hit him or yell at him. To Tooru’s shock, Wakatoshi didn't offer any kind of explanation; he only wrestled Tooru onto his belly and raised his hips, yanking down his pyjama pants with one swift jerk of his hand, revealing the creamy slope of his backside. Tooru was too shocked to protest or to even make a noise. His body felt like it was full of electricity as two large hands spread his ass open and a glob of spit landed on the little pink pucker of his asshole. Fuck - the muscle relaxed instantly as a finger pressed against it, sucking it in almost greedily. Tooru had practiced so much that he barely even felt the thick digit spread him open.

But then there was something bigger pressed against him and forcing entry - Tooru realised too late that it was Wakatoshi's cock fucking into him, something all the toys in the world couldn’t have prepared him for. All the breath was knocked from his lungs in a soundless scream as Wakatoshi forced his way inside Tooru’s impossibly tight asshole.

Tooru keened when Wakatoshi's heavy balls slapped against his perineum. He felt full to the point of nausea rising in the back of his throat. Like he was about to be sick with the sensation of it. The cock inside him might as well have torn up all the way to his diaphragm. He could feel it in every cell of his body. “Dad,” he wheezed, wriggling his hips back against the insistent push of his father’s thick cock, “Dad, it  _ hurts _ -,”

But Wakatoshi was having none of it. His hand swung back before snapping over the gorgeous peak of Tooru's ass, turning the milky skin a pretty pink colour and drawing a delightful cry from his son’s beautiful lips. He didn't wait for Tooru's body to adjust to his size, either - he set a rigorous pace, fucking in and out of the little hole wrapped around his cock, marvelling at how it gripped and squeezed and sucked at his shaft.

Wakatoshi had, initially, thought he'd been dreaming. He'd vaguely registered a pressure on his cock and had woken to find his beautiful son rutting against him like a bitch in heat, mouth open and tongue lolling. What was he  _ supposed  _ to do? Send Tooru back to his room and get him psychiatric help like a  _ good  _ father? No. Because Wakatoshi wasn't a good father, something he’d quite suddenly come to terms with. His resolve had snapped like a twig and he'd pushed his son down and, now, found himself buried hilt-deep in his son’s body.

He was transfixed on the melting, shivering body beneath his hands. Tooru was hurting, that much was obvious, but he was enjoying it if his aching erection and jumping hips were anything to go by. His ass sucked on Wakatoshi's cock just as his mouth had, wet and slick and hot, his hips trying their best to stuff as much of Wakatoshi’s cock inside his tight entrance as they could, regardless of the pain. Wakatoshi had never fucked anyone like this before; he was still in a haze, using his body weight to plough over and over again into the tight sucking hole and pressing his son further and further into the bed. Soon Tooru's moans of pain turned into shrieks of pleasure, his hips jumping wildly at the sheets as he tried to glean some friction against his neglected cock.

“Fuck me,” he cried, and to Wakatoshi it sounded like a song. “Fuck me, papa!”

Wakatoshi short-circuited. Something inside him broke and his hands grasped Tooru tightly by the hips, pressing him down into the sheets as he came deep inside his guts with a long, deep groan. Tooru's hips jerked weakly as he came too, pathetically humping the sheets, his dick splurging cum all over the sheets at the sensation of his father pumping his sperm so deep inside him.

Tooru's hole gaped wide and wrecked and dripping when Wakatoshi finally pulled out. It had gone from a pretty pink to a ruined, flushed red, Wakatoshi's cum dribbling down his perineum. Tooru lay prone on the bed with a few high, warbling moans leaving him every now and again. Wakatoshi closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against them.

He'd done it.

He opened his eyes and gazed down at his son’s thoroughly fucked body, and he knew that this was only the beginning of something truly despicable.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

Tooru sucked at his fingers, suspended in a dreamlike state as he lay in the soft hammock of his father’s bedsheets. He was vaguely aware of the body above him, but he was far too drunk on the heat consuming his body and the heady scent surrounding him to really take any notice. His cock, as sensitive as an open nerve, rubbed against the sheets whenever he moved, causing him to raise his hips into the air to keep it from hurting.

“Dad,” he croaked, reaching blindly about him until his hand closed around a thick wrist. “I’m sorry –,”

“Get up.” Wakatoshi’s voice was harder than Tooru had ever heard it. It struck a cold chord within him, the heat in his groin shrivelling ever so slightly at the sound of it. Tooru struggled to sit up as Wakatoshi pulled up his own pants and vaulted off the bed, going to hit the lights. Tooru squinted against the light as it flooded through the room, raising a hand to shield his eyes.

When his vision finally stabilised, Tooru found his father standing at the side of the bed with a glass of scotch in his hand. His heart turned stone cold in his chest as though the fluttering bird had dropped dead in his ribs. He looked at the glass, then his father, then back at the glass again.

“What did you put in this?” Wakatoshi demanded without so much as a flicker of his expression.

“Nothing,” Tooru mumbled, lips still quivering and ass still aching.

“You’re lying. What was it, Tooru?”

Tooru twisted the sheets between his fingers and looked away, chewing on his lips and considering not answering at all. Wakatoshi’s cutting eyes convinced him that not answering might not be the best idea.

“S-sleeping… pills…” Tooru admitted almost inaudibly. Wakatoshi’s hand tightened around the glass and his jaw flexed as he ground his teeth together.

“Why did you try to drug me?”

The questions grated against Tooru’s spine, making his face grow red hot in humiliation – not at being caught humping himself against his own father’s cock, no, but at being caught in the act. He twisted the sheets tighter and crowded his knees together, wriggling his toes.

“Because…” his voice trailed off as he hid his face in his knees. He wished he could just curl up and disappear into the clean white folds surrounding him.

“Because  _ what _ ?” Wakatoshi sounded closer that time. Tooru peeked up over his knees and found Wakatoshi leaning both hands on the bed, his expression pulled taut and cold. But there was a crack – Tooru could see something crack behind his eyes when he peered over his knees like that, curled up like he had during thunderstorms when he was a little child.

“I don’t… know.”  _ So I could suck your dick, duh. _ What was he  _ supposed  _ to say? Obviously he couldn’t admit his true intentions. Even for Tooru, that was too much.

Wakatoshi didn’t believe a word of it. He pushed himself back up straight, rubbing a hand over his face and turning his back on his son.

“Fuck,” he murmured into his hand. It was the first time Tooru had ever heard him swear. Wakatoshi turned back to the boy with his hair in disarray and one hand held out in warning. “You understand that if word gets out about this I’ll be put in jail, don’t you?”

Tooru paled considerably. Of course he knew that. Even though the age of consent in Japan was 13, prefecture laws often overrode federal ones, raising the age to 18 in most cases. The fact that Tooru was his son was another matter entirely. “Yes.”

Wakatoshi looked at him. He  _ stared  _ at him. His eyes raked all over Tooru’s body, up his legs and his limber torso, over his neck and the planes of his face. Tooru felt like he should stretch out and present himself, the heat beginning to rise again. It was as if Wakatoshi was fucking him all over again, this time with his eyes rather than his cock, and Tooru had to part his lips to breathe properly. He extended a leg and dipped his toes upwards, lightly kicking Wakatoshi’s wrist as he let his head drop teasingly to the side. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

Wakatoshi’s hand snapped back to his side and his expression closed up completely. “Go back to your room,” he said tightly. “And do not come out again. From tomorrow onwards I will act as though this never happened, and I expect you to do the same.”

Tooru barely managed to bite back a sneer.  _ Pretend like it never happened? Pretend like you didn’t just fuck your own son into your bed?  _ How the hell could Tooru pretend that never happened?

He knew better than to argue, though. Tooru slipped his shirt and briefs back on before crawling out of Wakatoshi’s bed and leaving the room, Wakatoshi’s gaze hot against his back as he left.

So. Wakatoshi had picked up on the drugs. Tooru wasn’t entirely surprised – he was more disappointed that he hadn’t had the chance to ride Wakatoshi’s cock like he’d wanted to. Not that having his father pin him down and fuck him so hard had been unenjoyable…

When he got to his room he shut his door and leaned his back against it. The bird in his ribcage had awoken again and beat furiously in his chest; he still couldn’t believe what had happened. His ass hurt to hell and back already and each step was a painful reminder of what had just transpired in the depths of his parents’ bedroom. As Tooru struggled to regain his breath, he came to the realisation that there was absolutely no way he could go back to how he was before. Things would never be the same again, and he knew it. A part of him told him that Wakatoshi knew it, too, despite how determined he was to act like everything was fine.

Tooru threw himself down onto his bed. He was still hopelessly aroused; he considered fucking himself on his toy or fingering himself open, but when he slipped his hand into his briefs to stroke over his hole the sting was too much, and so he decided to settle for stroking his cock and cumming over and over again while reliving the moment his father had stuffed his thick cock so deep inside him.

After cumming for the third time Tooru made the decision – perhaps for the first time in his life – to defy his father’s orders. He wasn’t going to forget, and with stony determination (undoubtedly inherited from Wakatoshi himself), Tooru resolved to make his father’s life as difficult as possible.

* * *

Tooru woke on Saturday morning a little after nine. He liked Saturdays: they were his father’s day off, he had no school, and his stepmother usually went shopping or went to visit her friends. Saturdays were the days where Tooru could do as he pleased for the most part. They were days of much-valued silence that he rarely got to indulge in.

He yawned as he entered the dining room with a plate of toast, offering his parents a sleepy greeting as he sat down. Both Wakatoshi and his wife were there. Tooru’s stepmother smiled at him. Wakatoshi merely nodded.

_ Acting normal, huh?  _ Tooru thought solemnly as he took a bite of his toast.  _ Like hell. _

The three of them kept up idle conversation, nobody in any particular rush. Wakatoshi had his paper and seemed notably more interested in it as usual. It didn’t take Tooru long to realise that he was purposefully ignoring him. He didn’t take that realisation very well at all.

He turned his attention to his stepmother, talking to her about school and his friends, leaning his face against his hand. Beneath the table, though, his fidgety little toes found the slope of Wakatoshi’s instep and slowly climbed the strip of skin between his slipper and the hem of his trouser leg. Tooru’s foot climbed higher towards Wakatoshi’s knee, unnoticed by his stepmother, who wasn’t any the wiser. Tooru’s face didn’t betray a thing.

Wakatoshi, however, raised his eyes to glower at his son over the top of his newspaper. Tooru didn’t look at him. Wakatoshi tried to move his leg, but wherever he shifted it, Tooru’s foot followed. The ball of his foot slipped up over the ridge of Wakatoshi’s knee, quickly sliding up his thigh –

“Excuse me,” Wakatoshi said suddenly, his chair skidding out behind him from the suddenness of his movements. His newspaper sat crumpled under his hand, his coffee sloshing over the side of his cup as he bumped the table. His wife looked at him, surprised. “I must excuse myself now. I have some work to do.” Before leaving, he gave Tooru a very particular  _ don’t follow me _ look, which the boy chose to completely ignore.

Tooru left breakfast fifteen minutes later, waiting so as not to seem suspicious. He hummed as he walked, still dressed in his pyjamas, skipping up the stairs and taking his time strolling down the wide hall towards Wakatoshi’s home office. He knocked, and when Wakatoshi called out, he entered.

“I did not appreciate your little stunt,” Wakatoshi said coldly without looking up from his computer screen. “Behave.”

Tooru smiled thinly and folded his hands behind his back. He wandered around the broad mahogany desk until he stood beside his father’s high-backed chair, cushioned and pinned with dark leather. It smelled old. Tooru used to love sitting in it when he was very young.

He spun the chair outwards before Wakatoshi had time to react, slinging one of his legs across Wakatoshi’s lap so he could sit squarely in it.

Tooru grinned at the outraged expression on his father’s face, proud of himself for being able to fluster him so much. Wakatoshi parted his lips to speak, but before he could get a sound out he was interrupted by the voice of his wife and the sound of her high-heeled shoes quickly approaching the office door.

“Oh, there you are. What are you two up to?” Tooru’s stepmother asked, smiling slightly at the sight of what appeared to be a good-natured conversation. Tooru, gripping the edge of the desk to swing the chair back around, smiled endearingly at her.

“Nothing,” he said with a flutter of his eyelashes that he knew people loved. He was still sitting squarely in his father’s lap, and he took the liberty of wriggling his backside down against Wakatoshi’s groin. “Dad’s just showing me some stuff.” He nodded to the computer.

“Oh,” the woman said as she raised a slender hand to her chin. “Well, I never understood all that computer business. Just remember that I’m leaving at three, okay? Is there anything you need from town, dear?”

Tooru hated when she called Wakatoshi  _ dear _ .

“No.” Wakatoshi’s voice came out as a choke, but thankfully his wife didn’t mention it, and instead ducked out of the office and closed the door softly behind her.

In the small pocket of time after the door shut, Tooru ground his hips down and let out a small, provocative sigh, lying himself back against Wakatoshi’s chest, effectively smothering him in his scent and his softness. Wakatoshi leaned his head against the back of his chair and groaned. Tooru gasped when Wakatoshi’s hands gripped his hips, holding him in place as he bucked his own hips up to meet his son’s grinding. Tooru let out a needy little purr, spread his thighs over his father’s lap, and bounced in time to Wakatoshi’s hips.

It only lasted for a second. With his jaw clenched, Wakatoshi practically lifted the boy out of his lap and cast him back to his feet again. Wakatoshi wasn’t flushed. But Tooru still noticed two points of colour high upon his cheeks and the slight rumple of his hair.

“I  _ told _ you –,”

“I can’t act,” Tooru interrupted him in a voice that was almost a purr. “You might be able to, dad, but I can’t.” His breath hitched in his throat and his heart gave a stutter as he remembered back to the night before, to the feeling of those strong hands pressed against his naked back. He wondered if Wakatoshi was thinking of the same thing. He leaned forwards over the desk, drawing in so close to his father that he could feel the heat radiating off his skin. They stayed like that for a moment, incredibly close, before Tooru leaned back and threw his hands behind his head. “Well, whatever,” he said loudly, waltzing towards the door. “I’ll be in my room. Don’t bother me.”

Wakatoshi only stared after him.

* * *

It would take more than a crusty attitude to stop Tooru. Anybody who even  _ remotely  _ knew him could tell that much. He’d dealt with his father’s immovability for his entire life, so if anyone was used to it by now, it was him. He just had to draw up a good game plan, right?

So he did. He did his very best to make things as hard as possible for his father. He sat in his lap when his stepmother made them watch movies as a ‘family’, wriggling and rolling his hips every chance he got. He wore tiny little shorts and tight little shirts that showed every angle and turn of his body, things that rode up his thighs whenever he so much as  _ moved _ ; he stole Wakatoshi’s t-shirts and wore them to bed, making sure that Wakatoshi saw him in them beforehand.

But Wakatoshi was putting up a fight of his own; his expression never broke and Tooru could never read him. They were fighting tooth and nail against one another.

Still.

Wakatoshi was having an incredibly difficult time. Tooru – the little shit – was practically throwing himself at his feet time and time again. He might as well have been spreading his own ass for Wakatoshi to fuck; in fact he was doing pretty much everything  _ except  _ explicitly offering himself up for Wakatoshi to fuck. It was difficult. Wakatoshi would have loved to take Tooru by the hair and force him to his knees and stuff his cock down that pretty, tight throat. But he was Tooru’s  _ father _ . He at least had a moral obligation to restrain himself.

He’d have dreams about it. He’d dream about thrusting Tooru’s pliant body up and down on his cock until the boy screamed and writhed and came so much that he couldn’t even think; he’d wake up with a sticky stain spread across the front of his pants whenever he had those dreams. He wanted to wreck him, to ruin him, to see how far he could push Tooru before he broke completely.

One evening, when Tooru was lying in bed reading before turning out the light, there was a gentle knock at his door.

“Tooru?” It was Wakatoshi – he eased open the door, obviously having just arrived home from work if his suit was anything to go by. “Are you already going to bed?”

Tooru nodded and lay the book down against his sternum, his gaze levelled on his father’s face. “You arrived just in time to say goodnight, huh?”

Wakatoshi entered the room and Tooru’s heart leapt nervously when he closed the door behind him. It only took Wakatoshi a few strides to cross the room, and he ruffled Tooru’s hair in the first familiar gesture he’d given for days. Tooru’s eyes fluttered and his hand shot out to grab his father’s tie when he made to pull away. “What,” he began, looking up through his lashes. “Aren’t you going to give me a kiss goodnight?”

Wakatoshi’s eyes were guarded. He leaned down anyway, touching his firm lips to the crest of Tooru’s cheek. The hand in his tie remained tight, and before he could do anything to stop it Tooru’s lips were sliding over his own, smooth and unbelievably soft. They tasted of toothpaste and something else Wakatoshi couldn’t quite place, but  _ oh _ , he’d never kissed lips like this. They were almost intoxicating, so fleshy and so sweet like the ripest and most succulent of fruits. Wakatoshi almost bit into them. His lips parted instinctively when he felt Tooru’s tongue glide over his lower lip, the boy gasping into his mouth as their lips melted apart and their tongues met and writhed together. Wakatoshi’s hand moved from Tooru’s hand to grasp the back of his neck, tilting his head back so he could kiss him deeper and delve his tongue past Tooru’s teeth. The boy beneath him moaned and the sound was so delectable that each pore of Wakatoshi’s skin rose in response. He wanted to  _ devour  _ him, to absorb his beautiful body, to fuck him to pieces. A growl rose from his throat and Tooru tugged his tie even tighter in a bid to draw him in.

“Wakatoshi!” The sound of Wakatoshi’s wife calling him broke them apart with a wet gasp, Tooru’s hand disentangling itself from his father’s tie. His lips were slick and swollen from kisses.

“Wait,” Tooru called just as Wakatoshi was about to leave. When the man turned, Tooru smiled, showing just a hint of teeth. “Thank you, papa.”

Ah, yes. There was the crack again. Wakatoshi left without another word.

Wakatoshi fucked his wife that night. Tooru was awake to hear it; his stepmother’s moans filtered through the walls, high and melodic, and Tooru’s insides stiffened with resentment. He wished it was him getting fucked, not  _ that woman. _ All she had to do was ask and Wakatoshi would give it to her, and it wasn’t  _ fair _ –

Tooru knew what he had to do. He had to work Wakatoshi up to the point where his primal emotions would override his almost  _ robotic  _ self-discipline – but how? How could he do it? Obviously he couldn’t ride Wakatoshi’s lap like he had the first time. His stepmother was home too often and Wakatoshi had guarded himself too well.

The next emotion that sprung to mind was anger.

Tooru got very little sleep that night – between the sound of his parents fucking and the ideas churning in his head he had no time for sleep. He had to think of ways to make Wakatoshi angry enough to fuck him, angry enough for him to break. But what? Tooru had been a nightmare during his early childhood, after all. Wakatoshi had probably dealt with the worst of it already.

Ah. But he hadn’t. There were some things even Wakatoshi hadn’t dealt with yet.

Tooru waited patiently for the weekend to pass, hatching his plan slowly and meticulously over Saturday and Sunday in wait for school to begin on Monday. He was strangely cool about it all when the day came; he wandered into the staff room during fifth period when it was mostly empty, plucking through the teachers’ desks until he found a box of freshly-marked exam papers. Taking the box, he carried it to the window and tipped them out into the breeze.

He’d sent three boxes full of exams fluttering from the fourth storey window before he was reprimanded and taken to the principal’s office. As he’d expected, they called his father, outraged and confused at the way Tooru just sat there swinging his legs and humming, vibrating with excitement rather than fear.

When Wakatoshi arrived, his countenance was infuriatingly cold. He had a low-voiced conversation with the staff and then took Tooru home, promising to discipline him in exchange for the incident being overlooked.

Wakatoshi led him to his study to sit him down and talk to him. Tooru didn’t  _ want  _ to be talked to, though. As Wakatoshi took off his coat, Tooru glanced around the office for some of his father’s precious artefacts. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted an antique astrolabe with a little glass ball hanging suspended inside the dials. It was something his grandfather had given him - something Wakatoshi valued greatly.

Perfect.

“What are you doing?” Wakatoshi demanded as Tooru got up out of his seat and approached the astrolabe. He took it into his hands, inspecting it, almost sad about what he was about to do. But it had to be done.

He dropped the astrolabe to the floor and watched as it smashed, the glass shattering and the metal dials scattering like marbles over the floorboards. Wakatoshi stared at him in disbelief, but as he blinked Tooru could see colour rise in his neck and the muscles tighten in his jaw.

_ Here it comes, _ the boy thought, a tingle of excitement stirring at the base of his spine.

“What are you  _ doing? _ ” Wakatoshi demanded, his voice louder this time, angrier, and he rounded the desk with powerful strides to grab his son by the scruff of the neck and force him over his knee. Tooru didn’t have the breath to do anything except squeak when his ribs were crushed against the top of Wakatoshi’s thighs, his trousers wrestled down to pool in the crooks of his knees.

The first blow hit his bare skin without warning, and Tooru let out a howl at the pain. Wakatoshi spanked him again, the palm of his hand prickling with fury. Again, again, until all of Tooru’s pained cries slurred together in one long hum not unlike the distant buzz of machinery. The boy’s legs were shaking by the twentieth swat, his backside burning and bright scarlet, and Wakatoshi almost didn’t register the slight pressure by his knee. What he did notice, though, was the way his son grew limp over his lap, the way he lay his cheek against Wakatoshi’s thigh and rutted his hips like a dog.

“You’re erect,” Wakatoshi remarked in disgust, wrinkling his nose and administering a last, final spank for good measure. He didn’t draw his hand away, though; his palm lay still over the flushed skin, the cheek of Tooru’s ass able to fit into the palm of his hand. His fingers pressed in slightly, massaging the flesh, and Tooru’s keen was muffled in the cashmere of his suit pants. Wakatoshi saw colour rising along the nape of his son’s neck and across the slender line of his shoulders. Even after he’d stopped, when his hand lay prone on the burning skin of Tooru’s backside, the boy’s hips kept rutting against his thigh, sloppy and desperate.

Tooru huffed hard. Breath steaming and wet. His ass was burning and he was half delirious with pleasure. His father had just  _ spanked  _ him – Tooru never thought he’d enjoy the pain so much. It was a delicious victory, a taste of the wildness he’d been craving for so long. He glanced back over his shoulder with his face red and begging, his tongue darting past his lips.

“Tell me why you’re doing this.” Wakatoshi’s hair hung into his eyes and his voice was barely more than a rasp. “ _ Tell me _ .”

“’Cus,” Tooru slurred with a smirk. “I want you to fuck me again, dad, and if that means I have to be a brat to do it, then I will.” He ground his hips in a wide, lazy circle, just for kicks.

“Fuck you…?” Wakatoshi’s brow drew tight and low over his eyes. The hand that wasn’t currently massaging his son’s ass was pressed between his shoulders to hold him down; Wakatoshi slid it along the curve of Tooru’s spine to his backside, where he spread the bright red flesh apart to reveal that gorgeous, winking hole.

It was just as Wakatoshi had thought. It was pink and glistening, soft and somewhat swollen, as though Tooru had been fucked many times before. Like a cunt. The mere thought made Wakatoshi prickle, and before he could stop himself he pressed the pad of his forefinger against the pucker and let it slide in right up to the knuckle. Tooru cried out, bucking his hips and standing on the very tips of his toes to raise his hips as far into the air as he could. Wakatoshi thrust his finger in and out vigorously, watching the pink flesh practically fellate his finger. He added a second finger, scissoring them and catching glimpses of the hot, slick interior. Even now he could vividly recall the way it gripped his dick.

He took his time fingering his boy open. Two fingers, then three, were stuffed inside his asshole, and Tooru’s hips began to shake as he tried his hardest to rub his cock against Wakatoshi’s thigh. The blush from his neck began to spread down his back and he was moaning so beautifully that Wakatoshi couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

Part of him wanted to, certainly. But the majority ruled.

“Fine.” Tearing his fingers out of Tooru’s ass, now pliant and slick, he grabbed Tooru by the hair, yanking him to his feet so he could bend the boy over his desk and spread his ass with his free hand. “I’ll fuck you. I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

Tooru shuddered violently. His eyes flickered shut as his brain grew hazy with arousal, and he pushed his ass out as far as he could against his father’s hand. He heard the sound of a zipper behind him and then there was pain – a lot of pain – blossoming at the very base of his spine. Wakatoshi only spat in his palm to lube up his cock a little before pressing it against his son’s rosy little pucker.

“Oh,” Tooru moaned as Wakatoshi’s cockhead breached his entrance. He spread his thighs wider, arching his back as best he could as the thick, meaty cock was worked inside him. He loved the pain so  _ much _ , almost as much as he loved the pleasure itself, but what he loved perhaps most of all was the hand fisted in his hair, pulling his head back without any semblance of care. “C’mon, papa, fuck me –,”

His voice cut off in a whine when Wakatoshi thrust sharply into him, burying himself in his son’s soft body all the way to the hilt. Tooru’s body trembled on his cock and Wakatoshi saw a dribble of precum drip from Tooru’s cock onto the carpet.

Wakatoshi could barely think straight. Between his anger and his unbelievable arousal he had little room for rational thought – all he was concerned with was fucking the living daylights out of the boy beneath him, regardless of whether or not he was his blood relative and only son. “How are you so wet…?”

The boy was a whore. Well, at least for Wakatoshi he was – he had the audacity to reach back behind him and spread his ass apart, offering Wakatoshi the perfect view of the sucking pink hole that grasped so desperately at his cock. “Slut,” he hissed, his anger making his words hard. Tooru whimpered in response and began to hump his hips back against his father’s bruising thrusts. He wanted to take it slower, to savour each ridge and swell of his father’s cock pushing into him, but he supposed that rough, fast sex was better than no sex at all.

“I’m a slut,” Tooru slurred against the top of the desk, Wakatoshi’s hand shoving his head down so he could lever his weight over him and slam that thick cock into him harder and harder. “I’m papa’s slut, please – fuck me –,”

Wakatoshi’s hand slapped over his ass again, making the boy squeak and tremble. His cock bobbed pathetically between his legs, dripping precum like a faucet and turning a pretty, flushed red.

“My slut…” the words left Wakatoshi’s lips in a breath, more of a thought than anything. It was an idea that somehow made him even harder; he took both of his hands and held the boy by his hips, thrusting his body up and down on the thick girth of his cock as though Tooru was nothing more than a puppet, or a fleshlight kept hidden under the bed. Wakatoshi’s vision was fringed with red as he fucked viciously into his son, his brain melting at the sound of the boy’s high whining and slurred begging.  _ My slut. _ Tooru was drooling all over his desk, humping his hips like a bitch. 

Wakatoshi’s lips fell open as he struggled to breathe. It felt so good fucking into his son over and over like this, as if he was trying to break the boy’s body entirely. Tooru – aware that they were the only two people in the house (not that he’d really care if they weren’t) – had begun to scream in pleasure as his father’s cock found his prostate, hammering against it with each deep thrust. The room was filled with a disgusting medley of Tooru’s crying and the wet  _ schluk _ ing of Wakatoshi’s cock ploughing in and out of Tooru’s sticky, abused hole.

“Cum inside me, papa,” Tooru sobbed, his hips jerking so violently Wakatoshi had to hold them tighter just to keep them still. Had Tooru always been this slutty? Did he do this for other men, too? Wakatoshi’s mouth grew instantly bitter with anger and jealousy at the thought. “Fill me up with your cum –,”

Wakatoshi choked out a groan as Tooru’s walls clenched tightly around him. He couldn’t force out words, but his mind had gone into overdrive.  _ I’ll fill you up, _ he thought as his eyes raked lasciviously over his son’s gorgeous, slender back.  _ I’ll fill you up with so much cum you’ll be vomiting it for weeks. _ He imagined his boy, his precious Tooru, with his belly distended from his papa’s cum, unable to move, unable to think. Too full. Wakatoshi let out a thunderous moan that rattled the bones in Tooru’s body.

“Tooru,” Wakatoshi snarled, slamming in balls-deep and holding the boy’s twitching hips tight against his pelvis as he came. He didn’t know how many loads he released into his son’s tight body; he was too lost in pleasure and the feel of Tooru’s pliant insides, his skin – in the smell of him. He was vaguely aware of the boy’s kicking legs and sobbing. Load after load after load gushed through Tooru’s guts, filling him up, bloating him, consuming him.

“Papa…” he wheezed. His lungs had constricted and he was struggling to breathe. He needed to  _ cum _ – Wakatoshi’s sperm flooded through him and there was so much that Tooru could almost taste it on the back of his tongue. “Papa, help me –,”

It killed him when Tooru called him that.  _ Papa _ . It was what he’d called him when he was very young - something he’d grown out of by the time he started school. It killed him because it made him almost wild with desire - the wrongness of it, the despicableness, was too much. It was all too much. Wakatoshi felt like he was going mad.

Helpless, Wakatoshi kissed up the length of Tooru’s spine. They were wet, sloppy kisses with more tongue than lips, more teeth, more sucking. Tooru thought he was going to pass out when his father began to suck hungrily at the back of his neck, cock still buried completely inside him, plugging him up with cum. The boy’s hips were trembling, his cock so deep a red that it was nearing purple. He couldn’t reach it himself. Wakatoshi, even through his post-orgasm haze, knew that Tooru was caught in a painful limbo; the boy was slowly going insane with an equal measure of pain and pleasure, which Wakatoshi dragged out just a little bit as a taste of punishment. He kissed up the side of his son’s neck, reaching up with one hand to turn the boy’s jaw and kiss him properly on his full, dripping lips.

He’d never been kissed so fervently. Tooru’s lips moved in a plea, sucking desperately at Wakatoshi’s lower lip and at his tongue, stroking across his teeth with his own pink tongue. He moaned into his father’s mouth, rutting his hips, trying to glean that last little push from the broad cock pressed against his prostate.

Finally Wakatoshi took pity on him. He drew out with an obscene  _ squelch _ and turned Tooru onto his back as easily as if he was a doll. Tooru’s legs fell open and his cock fell against his hip, sticky and painful, his balls drawn tight up beneath it. Wakatoshi ran his hands up his son’s thighs, revelling in the suppleness of them, then sliding his palm beneath Tooru’s ass and pulling him forwards.

He pressed one finger into the soft, wrecked warmth of Tooru’s asshole, then another, and another. He’d been thoroughly stretched out by Wakatoshi’s cock, so Tooru only arched his back and moaned weakly, his cock twitching and leaking some more.

Wakatoshi frowned in concentration as he pushed his fingers in and out, feeling his own cum sloshing around inside Tooru’s body. He was looking – looking for the boy’s prostate. Since Wakatoshi’s fingers were long he found it rather quickly, and wasted no time in rubbing the little engorged spot vigorously.

Tooru began to cry out again, rocking his hips and sobbing with need. Wakatoshi’s free hand held his son’s wrists so he couldn’t jerk himself off.

“Please, please,” Tooru sobbed, his body shaking as he tried to breathe, humping itself down on his father’s fingers in abandon. “Help me, papa –,”

When Tooru came his body arched off the desk, his legs quivering around Wakatoshi’s waist. It looked so painful – Tooru’s neglected cock shot cum up over his navel, twitching and trembling as much as the rest of him was. When the boy collapsed, exhausted, on Wakatoshi’s desk, Wakatoshi flicked the oversensitive head of his son’s cock and made him howl in pain.

Neither of them spoke. Tooru lay there sobbing with his hands pressed over his face, overwhelmed both emotionally and physically. Wakatoshi stared down at him as though what he’d done hadn’t quite registered yet.

But slowly it did. The sight of his little boy lying there crying inspired a primal reaction in the heart of the father; his hands stroked soothingly over Tooru’s thighs, his heart pounding in his chest. What from? Guilt? Concern? Something else? Wakatosho suspected it to be a mix of a lot of things. He leaned down, then, pressing his lips to Tooru’s face and kissing up into his hair, stroking his son’s body to try and help him calm down. “Tooru,” he whispered against the delicate whorl of the boy’s ear. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Tooru.”

Tooru wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and held him there, bodies pressed flush together. “I love you, papa,” the boy croaked, burying his face in the crook of Wakatoshi’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m like this. I can’t stop.”

Something had begun to splinter inside Wakatoshi’s heart. Perhaps it was his overwhelming love for his son or his instincts as a father to give the boy what he needed. He pressed his forehead against his son’s cheek and inhaled deeply, allowing himself to indulge in Tooru’s sweet, heady scent. “If you keep goading me then I will break,” he warned in a voice no louder than a whisper. “There is only so much I can take, Tooru. You must understand this.”

Tooru had stopped crying. His heart had settled and he could think clearly again. Butterflies were wreaking havoc in his chest cavity when his father spoke those words. “I know.”

Wakatoshi kissed his neck and Tooru moaned, tilting his head to the side to give his father more access to the slender column of his throat. Wakatoshi took his time lavishing deep kisses against his son’s pale skin, licking and nipping with his teeth. Eventually, though, he straightened up, fixing his rumpled suit and straightening his tie, smoothing back his hair and helping Tooru pull up his own clothes.

“I can feel your cum in me,” Tooru mumbled as he buckled up his belt, his cheeks colouring. And then he burped, pressing one hand to his stomach and the other hand to his mouth.

Wakatoshi sent him out before he could get hard and shove the poor boy down again.

When Tooru was gone, Wakatoshi sat down at his disrupted desk and stared into space for a long while. His son was now somewhere in the house full to the brim with his sperm, giddy and walking with a limp to his step, his pretty little hole stretched out and abused.

By his father.

Wakatoshi put his face into his hands and, for the first time since the death of his wife, cried.


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

The room was dark. The only light came from the enormous television mounted on the wall, the screen playing a scene from some movie Wakatoshi's wife wanted to watch. She had a good heart, really, and she tried to get the family together to watch a movie together every Friday evening. Both Wakatoshi and Tooru had agreed to this arrangement. Wakatoshi didn't really mind, but Tooru found it absolutely unbearable. Well… he used to. Now the situation was a little bit different.

Tooru leaned back, laying his head against his father's shoulder. It brought a beautiful arch to his spine, invisible in the dark room. His stepmother was riveted on the movie, but neither Tooru nor Wakatoshi were paying any attention to it.

Before the movie had started, Tooru plopped himself down in his father's lap and insisted that that was going to be his seat for the evening. His stepmother had seemed delighted that father and son were so close and dismissed Wakatoshi's frown. But what she didn't know was that as soon as the room went dark Tooru had sunk himself down into Wakatoshi's cock, and that her husband had begun to lazily kiss along his son’s neck while slipping his hands up beneath his shirt.

“It's so deep,” Toou breathed, reaching back to tangle his hand in Wakatoshi's hair. Wakatoshi only grunted into the soft skin of his neck as Tooru rocked his hips back and forth in his lap, his clothed cock pressed painfully against the fly of his pants. “I want you to fill me up before bed, okay?”

Wakatoshi inhaled shakily and pressed his son back against him. His hands pressed hard against Tooru's abdomen, creating a mind-numbing pressure over his cock already buried inside the boy’s accommodating ass. Tooru mewled a little too loudly, causing his stepmother to glance over in concern.

“Are you feeling unwell?” she asked, and Tooru smiled at her, shaking his head.

“I’m all right,” he assured her, hoping that she didn’t notice the slight hitch in his voice. “It… must have been something I ate.”

She seemed satisfied and turned back to the television, resting her chin on her hand. Tooru smirked and ground his hips down harder on his father’s cock.

“Tooru,” Wakatoshi breathed against the fine hairs of Tooru’s nape, holding the smaller body close to him and grinding the heel of his palm against Tooru’s clothed cock.

“Don’t – I’m –,”

“Stop whispering, you two!” Tooru’s stepmother whispered to them just as Tooru shuddered and hit his climax hard. He pressed his hand to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut to keep in the tears of pleasure that threatened to escape. With shaking knees he went limp in his father’s grasp, his underwear a mess of sticky cum, and allowed Wakatoshi to use him like a fleshlight of sorts. Wakatoshi rocked the limp body on his cock until he came too, flushing Tooru’s insides with his cum.

By the time the movie ended, Tooru’s hole was gaping and stretched-out from having his father’s cock buried deep inside it for the majority of the runtime. He lay cradled in Wakatoshi’s lap, too weak with pleasure to move.

“I’ll take him to bed,” Wakatoshi told his wife when she switched on the lights, and she nodded, pecking Tooru’s forehead.

“He feels a little warm… make sure he’s not ill.” Then she pecked Wakatoshi’s lips and headed off to shower.

Wakatoshi carried his son to his room and locked the door behind him before depositing the boy on his bed. Tooru whined and spread his legs, tearing off his pants and rolling onto his hands and knees, dropping his chest to the sheets and keeping his hips in the air. He wriggled them, presenting his flushed, swollen asshole that practically begged for Wakatoshi’s cock.

“Fuck me hard,” he panted, his tongue lolling from between his lips. “I want your cock in me,  _ please _ .”

Wakatoshi licked his teeth hungrily. He dropped to his knees on the bed, mounting Tooru like a bitch and sliding his greased cock back into the wet, tight heat. This hole was always so willing, never tight anymore and never without something inside it, it seemed. Tooru – as Wakatoshi had found out – was the master of provocation, and it took very little effort to get his father back between his legs. All it took was for Tooru to slip into his papa’s lap wearing only a too-big shirt or a pair of tiny volleyball shorts or a pair of stolen lacy underpants. Tooru knew what suited his body the best, the best way to frame his coral-pink nipples, the best way to accentuate his soft skin.

Wakatoshi couldn’t resist him.

He pushed Tooru’s face down into the sheets to muffle the boy’s wan moans. It was obscene how he was jerking his hips up, slapping against Wakatoshi’s hips as though his asshole hungered for as much of Wakatoshi’s heady shaft as it could get, as though his life depended on it. The boy’s hole had grown spongy and soft and sweet with the constant attention from his father’s cock and fingers – and from his own toys, too.

Wakatoshi knew how this would end: with Tooru lying in a mess on his bed with his ass dripping cum, stretched and gaping. Sometimes Wakatoshi would finger him for a while after that, tormenting the boy’s poor oversensitive body some more until Tooru cried and begged him to stop. There was something irresistibly sinful about watching his thick fingers disappearing inside Tooru’s greedy hole. Something Wakatoshi could never get enough of. Not that he’d ever admit it. Not to anybody.

Where he’d used to kiss his son goodnight Wakatoshi now fucked into his willing body until the boy was too exhausted to stay awake any longer, whereupon he’d tuck him in, guts gurgling with his father’s fresh sperm.

Sometimes Tooru would send Wakatoshi videos while he was at work. He’d send him videos of Tooru riding his dildo, giving him the perfect angle to see the glistening pink of his sucking hole as it devoured the toy. Or he’d send him pictures of Tooru with three fingers buried inside his dripping asshole with the caption ‘I miss you’ tacked to the bottom. He was teasing, and he was doing a damned fine job of it, too.

“ _ Hnggh _ , papa, your dick feels so good fucking me – papa’s dick is so good –,” Tooru reached out and hugged his pillow to his face as his body began to melt on Wakatoshi’s sticky, pounding cock. He fucked Tooru through one orgasm, then two, and by the third Tooru could barely cum anymore and lay there limp as a ragdoll as Wakatoshi once again used him to get off. It turned Tooru on to no end knowing that Wakatoshi could use him as a toy like that.

“I love you, papa,” Tooru rasped when Wakatoshi kissed him goodnight, sucking the man’s tongue into his warm, wet mouth. Wakatoshi rumpled his hair.

“I love you too, Tooru.”

Soon they began to extend their trysts to outside the home, too.

Sometimes Tooru would visit Wakatoshi’s office building after school. He’d wear his volleyball uniform with shorts a few sizes too small so they rode up his legs when he rode his bike. He knew all the reception staff in the building and – more importantly – they all knew who  _ he  _ was. The son of the president. He got in with no trouble and more than a few outraged glances at his ass as he skipped towards the elevator.

Wakatoshi looked up when the door opened to see Tooru enter with his tiny shorts and school backpack still on his back.

“What are you doing here?” he said, bewildered. Tooru never came to his office – at least, not of his own volition.

“I just wanted to see my dad,” Tooru said, like it was the most ridiculous question in the world. He dropped his bag onto one of the plush leather chairs and sat in the other one on the opposite side of Wakatoshi’s desk, pulling his knees up to his chin and spreading his ankles so his father got a perfect view of the way his little shorts framed the milky skin of his thighs and the gentle swell of his crotch. Wakatoshi – like a good father – asked his son about his day, about how school was going and about his friends. When Tooru got bored of the pointless small talk he got up and rounded the desk, leaning over to peer at the screen of Wakatoshi’s laptop while pushing out his ass, slinging a leg over his father’s thigh so he could sit with it square between his legs.

“What’re you doing?” Tooru asked. He couldn’t be any less interested in the spreadsheet on the screen – the numbers swam before his eyes and made him dizzy. He let his weight settle comfortably against Wakatoshi’s thigh, though, a delightful pressure pressed against his groin and the soft insides of his thighs rubbing against the weave of Wakatoshi’s trouser leg.

“Ah…” Wakatoshi’s voice was choked and his eyes were glued to the outrageous display his son was putting on. He could feel the slight hardness of Tooru’s cock against his leg and  _ oh _ – how could he concentrate with such a pretty little thing perched on his thigh like that?! His hands slid from the desktop to take hold of Tooru’s hips, pulling the boy back over his thigh and into his lap so he could feel the distinct swell of Wakatoshi’s quickly-growing erection.

“Naughty,” Tooru teased, wriggling against Wakatoshi’s crotch. “Are you getting turned on, dad? By your boy? That’s gross.” Tooru shot him a catlike smile to tell him that he didn’t really find it gross at all. Or maybe he did. Maybe that’s what made it so electric.

Wakatoshi didn’t reply. He took hold of one of Tooru’s soft thighs and hooked it over his other leg so the boy’s knees were spread entirely apart, revealing the straining seam of his shorts and a peek of the white briefs he wore underneath. Wakatoshi groaned and buried his face in Tooru’s neck, kissing at the skin as his hands slid up the insides of his boy’s thighs.

“Sir?” The tannoy on Wakatoshi’s desk suddenly came to life with Goshiki’s voice loudly breaking the silence. Wakatoshi yanked his hands back in shock and Tooru snapped his legs closed, his heart racing.

“What is it?” Wakatoshi asked after clearing his throat. Slowly Tooru spread his legs open again, taking his father’s wrists and placing his hands against the supple skin near the vee of his hips.

Goshiki began to say something. Wakatoshi didn’t quite hear what it was. His attention was drawn to Tooru as the boy began to lift up his shirt, revealing swollen nipples covered by two band-aids. Wakatoshi’s cock jumped in his pants at the sight of it.

“What…?” His voice trailed off as he reached up to flick his fingers against the band-aids; Tooru let out a little gasp. His cock had begun to bulge in his shorts.

“Goshiki,” Wakatoshi said into the receiver, interrupting whatever it was Goshiki had been saying.

“Yes, sir?”

“Cancel all my appointments for this afternoon.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Tooru bit back a wicked grin as Wakatoshi stood up and pushed him back onto the desk.

“Don’t,” Wakatoshi told him when he made to peel off the plasters; he caught Tooru’s wrists and pulled him along the desk until he was able to hook the boy's legs over his shoulders and get to his knees. Like this, Wakatoshi’s face was immediately in-line with his son’s crotch and his ass. Tooru’s thighs were warm about his ears as Wakatoshi pressed his face into the boy’s soft, fragrant groin, the material soft against his mouth and nose. He closed his eyes and breathed in, Tooru’s thighs squeezing tight about his head. He’d wanted to do this for so long, to bury his face between Tooru’s thighs, toned from all his volleyball training. The boy squeaked in shock when his father buried his face between his legs, but he pushed back instinctively, the tip of Wakatoshi’s nose pressed against his perineum.

“Dad,” he gasped when Wakatoshi moved to bite at the flesh of his inner thighs, leaving bright red teeth-marks. From there he moved up the boy’s body, kissing over his belly and up towards his chest, pushing his shirt up beneath his chin.

“Hold it there,” he told Tooru, and he obediently held his shirt up, giving his father an unprecedented view of his chest. Tooru still had a bit of fat on his chest, and his nipples were sensitive – Wakatoshi still refused to peel off the plasters (Tooru had only meant for them to be a tease). He gripped at the flesh with his hands, fondling and flicking his fingertips over the band-aids until Tooru had chewed his lower lip raw, and only then did he lift the band-aids from his son’s nipples. Tooru squeaked in pain as he did, but the view was incredible – they revealed swollen pink nipples that just begged to be abused. They looked delicious.

Wakatoshi latched his mouth onto one of Tooru’s nipples and lathed his tongue over the sweet little nub, taking it between his teeth and rolling it about, sucking it until it turned from that delicious rosy pink to a dark, flushed red. Tooru’s face had coloured, too, his eyes glistening. Wakatoshi moved to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment, lavishing the boy’s chest with attention and grinding his achingly hard cock against his son’s ass. His erection strained against the seam of his trousers, begging to be able to sink into Tooru’s asshole and fuck him into a mess.

“Stop teasing,” Tooru ground out, his hands fisting in Wakatoshi’s hair.

Wakatoshi drew back and glowered down at him, taking the boy’s hands and pinning them above his head. He stroked the back of his knuckles over the soft skin of Tooru’s cheek, his heart hammering with adoration. “I’ll help you,” he promised in a whisper that he pressed against Tooru’s swollen lips. He slid back down his body, half delirious with pleasure as though Tooru’s scent and skin had intoxicated him, using his long fingers to help Tooru wriggle out of his shorts.

He groaned, spreading Tooru’s thighs apart and getting back to his knees, hooking the boy’s legs over his shoulders again so he could sink his face between the soft cheeks. Tooru’s hole winked pink and hungry, begging for Wakatoshi’s tongue to push past the tight ring of muscle. Wakatoshi had the whole afternoon to himself – he could take all the time he wanted with his boy. He could spread Tooru out on his desk and take him apart piece by piece, make him writhe and sweat and scream so loudly that everybody in the building would know just who he belonged to.

Tooru’s breath began to come harder as Wakatoshi tongued at his hole, sometimes slipping his tongue past his entrance and other times sliding up and taking the boy’s cock into his mouth. Tooru was mesmerised as he gazed down at his father; he’d never seen such raw, reckless abandon before, as though Wakatoshi had gotten a fix of a long-lost drug. His hair was already messed and his face had begun to flush.

Wakatoshi took his time opening Tooru up. He used his tongue and his fingers and worked lazily, taking no less than half an hour of uninterrupted attention before Tooru’s body began to viscerally shake whenever he dug his fingers in too deep. His hole had grown wet and soft and Wakatoshi could spread it open beautifully.

And then he fucked him long and hard and deep, the papers on his desk forgotten in lieu of the beautiful boy he currently had spread out before him.

Tooru left his father’s office with a red face and a little short of breath, clenching his hole as tightly as he could to keep to torrent of Wakatoshi’s cum inside him – after all, there would be nothing more embarrassing than walking away with a wet spot on the seat of his shorts. He would ride his bike back home, and each bump of the seat against his groin would have him shivering all over again.

This happened more than once, and as time passed it became more common. Soon Tooru spent most afternoons getting his guts rearranged by his father’s dick, spread out over his desk or sat beneath it with his tongue lathing up and down the thick, veiny shaft. He also invested in a little blue butt plug so he could plug himself up with Wakatoshi’s cum without having to worry about it leaking out.

The plug unlocked a world of new opportunities for Tooru.

One morning he woke up before the rest of the household; the place was entirely silent, the morning still yawning out into a pale dawn beyond the pane of his window. Tooru woke consumed by desire, slipping from his bed and making his way to his parents’ room. Once he was there he crawled between the two sleeping bodies, straddling Wakatoshi and drawing down his pants.

Wakatoshi woke up to find his son bouncing up and down on his cock like he was born for it, his lithe body quivering and his cock standing pink and hard and dribbling precum. He almost had a heart attack; his wife was still fast asleep beside them and could wake up  _ any moment  _ and catch father and son in a predicament they should certainly  _ not  _ be in – but the sight of Tooru grinding his desperate body down onto his father’s dick was too much for him to bear, and so he grabbed Tooru by his hips and slammed up into him to make sure the boy got as much cum as he needed. The way Tooru’s eyes rolled back into his head and his teeth snapped shut was like a drug. His entire expression convulsed with each upwards thrust of Wakatoshi’s powerful hips and Wakatoshi could see the faint bulge of where his cock sat inside his son.

Tooru put in the plug immediately after Wakatoshi had shoved his face into the sheets and bred him. The cum inside him was still hot and each pore of his skin throbbed as he dressed in his school uniform.

Wakatoshi didn’t know Tooru had kept his cum plugged inside him until that evening, when Tooru crawled into bed with him and pushed Wakatoshi’s hand down into his shorts so he could feel the hard base of the plug.

Tooru whined when Wakatoshi tugged at the plug lodged firmly in his ass, his little pink tongue lolling out over his lower lip. He began to hump his hips against Wakatoshi’s hand, his own hands scrabbling at the man’s shirt, rubbing his head against his father’s shoulder like a cat. “Please, dad…”

“Please what? Use your words, Tooru.” Wakatoshi’s words were something he’d told Tooru very often when he was younger, but now they had a different meaning entirely.

Tooru flushed. “P-please fill me up with you cum…”

Wakatoshi only needed one hand to hold the boy down and dislodge the little blue plug from his ass. Tooru’s hole gaped wide and loose, stretched by the silicone he’d had inside him all day, and it glistened wet and sticky with Wakatoshi’s cum from that morning. It had to be a crime, didn’t it? To have such a gorgeous boy in such a submissive position, ass thrust out and hole gaping open. He didn’t need to even prep him; he slid his greased-up cock deep into Tooru’s tight little hole, pressing the boy down into the sheets and listening to the sweet high whining of his moans as he tried to hump his hips back onto his father’s cock. Since when had he become such a slut? It was as though Wakatoshi had hit a switch.

He ran his hands all over his son’s body, squeezing a big hand around his throat. Tooru’s eyes flickered back into his head as Wakatoshi rolled his cock impossibly deep, bruising the head over and over against the poor boy’s prostate. Tooru came three times before Wakatoshi did, his cum splurging into the sheets and his body shaking like a leaf, sweat glistening up the column of his spine.

“Wakatoshi, dear!”

Wakatoshi’s head snapped towards the door when he heard the sound of his wife’s voice; if she caught him here with his dick buried inside his son, he’d be over. Tearing his cock out of Tooru he hauled the boy into the ensuite and shut the door, his panic only subsiding when he latched the lock closed. Tooru shook in his arms, his little pink nipples peaked with excitement and his cock standing straight up over his hip. His eyes were glazed, blissed-out, never leaving his father’s thick, dripping dick.

Wakatoshi slowly set Tooru onto shaking legs, bending him over the sink as he pressed back into him again. The boy was in too much of a haze to make any more noise than a few muffled keens as Wakatoshi began to slide in and out of his stretched, sucking hole, hand clamped tight over Tooru’s mouth. The boy could barely breathe.

There was a knock at the door.

“Wakatoshi, have you seen Tooru? I need to get his uniforms dry-cleaned but I can’t find them.” Her voice was muffled and Wakatoshi tried his best to keep his voice under control as he fucked into his son.

“I haven’t,” he said just loudly enough for her to hear. When Tooru moaned he had to shove three fingers into the boy’s slick, drooling mouth. Tooru immediately began to suck on them, fellating the digits with his tongue. “He might’ve… gone out.”

There was a pause from the other side of the door.

“Wakatoshi, are you all right? You sound funny.”

“I’m fine.” Wakatoshi pulled out of Tooru’s ass until only the head sat inside, gazing down at his poor fucked hole, the way it quivered desperately around his cock as though it was the only thing Tooru needed in the world.

“Okay… are you sure?”

Wakatoshi sunk his dick back into the base, pressing his weight over his son. Tooru let his legs fall open, his toes not even touching the floor, and jerked his hips, his cock dribbling all over the tiles. His eyes were glued on the door and he reached back behind him to grab Wakatoshi’s wrist and urge him on faster.

“Yes. That will be all.” Wakatoshi could barely bite back his groan, Tooru’s ass clenching and squeezing around him. His wife hesitated for a moment, obviously hurt by her husband’s brusqueness, and left.

The bedroom door swung shut and Wakatoshi threw his head back, gripping Tooru’s hips and pounding into the pliant body beneath him. Tooru bit into his arm to stifle his scream; the pounding didn’t stop, his hipbones digging painfully into the sink with each bruising thrust.

“Papa,” he moaned with drool dripping from his lips. “Fuck me, fuck your cum into me, please, I need it –,” he broke off with a squeal when Wakatoshi fisted his hand in his son’s soft hair and yanked his head back to kiss him deeply, sliding his thick tongue into the boy’s sweet, hot mouth. Tooru melted in his arms.

When Wakatoshi came, he made sure he did it as deep inside Tooru as he could. Then he pulled out and stretched the little ruined hole open with his fingers, watching the cum sluice around inside. And then he plugged Tooru up, shoving the plug in nice and tight.

“Keep it inside,” he murmured as he kissed his son’s hair, carrying him to his bedroom to put him to bed after cleaning him up. Tooru hummed and wrapped his arms around Wakatoshi’s neck.

“It’s all warm and sticky,” he breathed when Wakatoshi tucked him in, wriggling his hips a little. “I love you, dad.”

“I love you too, Tooru.”

Sometimes – though not often, thankfully – Wakatoshi would be dragged out to various dinners hosted by his business partners.

Tonight was one such night, and after a long, gruelling week at the office, walking down a busy inner-city street was the last thing Wakatoshi wanted to be doing. The knocking of his heels against the pavement was muted by the chatter of those around him, the crowd busting in the late-evening air in their bid to get home to their families.

Wakatoshi didn’t like this part of town, as necessary as it was for him to pass through. Rich men like him didn’t come here – it was full of vending carts and host restaurants and sex shops –

Wakatoshi slowly came to a stop in front of a store display window, his thoughts drawing to a close. His eyes had narrowed in on something almost nondescript had it not been for its almost  _ obnoxious  _ pink colour; a small ovular piece of plastic shaped much like a quail’s egg. It was attached to a cord wrapped in pink rubber, and as Wakatoshi’s eyes followed it he began to realise just what it was he was looking at. As his eyes came to rest on the little pink dial, a plan began to hatch in his head.

“Ushijima-san!” his colleagues greeted him when he entered the restaurant. He adjusted his tie, then his watch, before sitting down. “It’s not like you to be late.”

“I apologise,” Wakatoshi replied, as impassive as ever, handing his coat to one of the concierges who had come to collect it. Then he handed her his case, the little pink boxes inside feeling heavy as lead.

* * *

_ A crime. _

__

__

_ Surely. Surely it is a crime. _

Wakatoshi had returned home not ten minutes ago. His wife was sleeping soundly and the clock had just struck two. He’d drunk one too many glasses of red wine, and rather than crawling into bed like a good husband, Wakatoshi found himself standing over his son’s bed, eyes locked hungrily on the sleeping boy.

Tooru breathed softly, his face relaxed in slumber. He hugged his pillow to his face and had his thumb wedged firmly in his mouth, a habit that had stuck long after he should have grown out of it. He looked so peaceful – Wakatoshi couldn’t resist running a fond finger down the side of the boy’s cheek, the skin soft and warm.

He hadn’t had the opportunity to fuck his boy for a while. After all, he’d been drowning in projects, and even when the boy  _ had  _ come waltzing into his office all he’d managed to do was shove him beneath his desk and stuff his thick cock down Tooru’s tight little throat. Tooru had complained, of course, but what could Wakatoshi do? He had work that needed to be done.

But now was the hour where time grew thin and responsibilities ceased to exist. To Wakatoshi it seemed fitting – a liminal time for a liminal boy. He drew the covers away from Tooru’s body and the boy shivered in the cold air, his nipples pebbling beneath his soft white shirt. He was only wearing a pair of blue briefs aside from it.

Wakatoshi loosened his tie and slowly began to pull Tooru’s briefs down his legs. The boy sighed, turning his face into his pillow, but he didn’t wake, not even when his father disentangled his briefs from around his ankles and pushed his supple thighs apart, using his hands to part the flesh of Tooru’s ass and reveal the hole he’d missed so much.

It looked tighter. Tooru hadn’t been using it as often since Wakatoshi had been busy, so it drew tight and pink even in the darkness. Wakatoshi, still slightly skewed from the wine, didn’t even think to prepare him. His cock was already rock-hard and straining at the fly of his slacks. “Sorry…” he mumbled as he took his cock into his hand.

Tooru didn’t wake at first. He was suddenly so convoluted with pain that he wasn’t sure what to do with himself – wake up? Stay asleep? Before he knew it, a pained moan left his lips, the kind that rises from the mouth of a winded child or from a boy who has just broken his leg. He didn’t know what was going on and he almost opened his mouth to cry for his parents –

Wakatoshi shoved Tooru’s head down into his pillow before he could scream. He was so  _ tight _ – he almost couldn’t force his cock inside him, but with a little elbow grease and a few probing fingers he managed, seating himself entirely inside the boy and letting out a little sigh of relief.

Tooru hurt so much he could barely move. All he could do was shake, caught in an awful limbo somewhere between pain and pleasure. Strong hands were on his back, pushing up his shirt, hands he immediately recognised. “D-dad…!”

Wakatoshi hushed him gently, turning the boy onto his back so he could look down into his teary face. “Open up for me, Tooru,” Wakatoshi mumbled, bringing Tooru’s leg over his shoulder to mouth at the fine bones of his ankle.

“No…” the boy moaned, but he didn’t pull away, knowing that his father could toss him around like a doll if he wanted to. “It  _ hurts _ … please take it out…!”

Wakatoshi was strangely turned on by the pain in Tooru’s voice. More turned on than he should have been. Arousal prickled up his spine like a white heat, spreading over his scalp and making his cock throb deep inside his son’s tight hole. He pushed in even harder, then, his hands spreading the soft flesh of Tooru’s ass apart so he could see the suck and pull of the beautiful, supple rim. There was a little smear of blood over the skin from where Tooru had obviously torn – instead of concern, however, Wakatoshi was filled with an even more violent lust. His boy’s pained whines only spurred him on even more.

“Such a good boy,” he murmured as he stroked a soothing hand up and down Tooru’s spine. “You’re a good boy for me, aren’t you, Tooru?” He  _ sounded  _ a little drunk. Despite his discomfort, Tooru eagerly sucked Wakatoshi’s fingers into his mouth, moaning as they fucked across his tongue. His nose ran, his eyes bleary from crying..

“Yes,” he whispered, even though his legs were shaking from the pain. “But  _ please _ … please, dad, it  _ hurts _ …”

“I know, baby.” Wakatoshi’s voice was tight with pleasure as he rocked his hips, grinding Tooru’s body down against his cock. He was close – the fire broiling in his abdomen began to crest in his cock and he pulled out abruptly, shoving Tooru down so he could smear his load all over Tooru’s pretty nose and lips. Tooru gazed up at him, dazed, not having really woken up yet and still muddled from the pain of his father’s forced entry. That vulnerable look was enough to make Wakatoshi squeeze out another load.

The next morning, Wakatoshi called Tooru into his bedroom while he was changing. The boy stood in his school uniform with the bored, lopsided kind of presence that one typically sees in teenagers, watching as Wakatoshi fastened his tie.

“I bought something for you yesterday,” Wakatoshi said, going to pick up the briefcase he’d sat by the door. He took out a handful of little pink boxes and lay them out on the bed, beckoning Tooru over to inspect them.

“What are they?”

Wakatoshi opened one of the boxes. “Take off your pants and get on the bed.”

Tooru shuddered with pleasure at the low rasp of his father’s voice and did exactly as he was told.

Wakatoshi rolled the little vibrator in his hand. He took a roll of surgical tape from his nightstand before unboxing the rest of them. There were six in total, small and round and pink.

He took Tooru’s ass cheeks in each hand and spread them apart so he could bury his face between them and push his tongue into Tooru’s hole. The boy flinched a little at the sting from where his hole had been torn a little the night before, but it didn’t take long for Wakatoshi’s thick tongue to work its magic, and his hole yielded, as sweet and spongy as ever.

He whined when Wakatoshi pulled away, but before he could protest something small and hard was pushed inside him; there was a click and it began to vibrate, the sensation so foreign that Tooru couldn’t hold back the squeak that left his lips.

Wakatoshi added another vibrator and switched it onto a low setting, the same as the first, before taking the dials and taping them to the top of Tooru’s thigh.

And, oh, did he ever look like a little slut.

Just when Tooru began to hope he’d get his guts rearranged before school, Wakatoshi hiked up his pants again and told him to hurry so he didn’t miss the train.

“You… you want me to wear these to  _ school _ ?” the boy asked as he slid off the bed, shifting his weight from foot to foot in an attempt to get a little more comfortable.

“I’ll know if you turn them off.” Wakatoshi shrugged on his coat and pressed a kiss to Tooru’s forehead. “I will also know if you get yourself off before I get home. Neither of those things are allowed, is that understood?”

Tooru nodded and shivered at his father’s tone. “Yes, dad.”

Tooru walked to the station, shifting himself constantly at the discomfort of having those two little vibrators inside him. It was so strange that it even overshadowed the pleasure they might give him – he was doubtful. They didn’t seem to be on a high enough setting to be pleasurable.

But once he got on the train they were almost unnoticeable. The carriage was packed and so he had to stand. Tooru gripped onto one of the poles by the door, crowded against it by the people filling the carriage. At some point during the journey, a comfortable warmth settled low in his belly, and he let his forehead rest against the cool metal of the pole, sighing. By the time he met his friends at the school gate, each step he took sent a jolt of dull pleasure up his spine.

As the day progressed it only got worse. What had started as a nagging discomfort had progressed into a constant, dull ache of pleasure deep in his groin. He pressed his knees together in class to try and keep himself focussed, but it seemed like the more he tried the more he failed. He had to excuse himself some time in the afternoon to escape to the bathroom.

Peeling back his underwear, Tooru found his cock hard and sticky, already threatening to make a mess. His breath came hard and fast and he longed for touch, even his own, to get him off. Something.  _ Anything _ . But his father’s words hung over him – no adjusting and no touching. With a heaving breath that sounded more like a sob, Tooru did up his pants and tied his sweater around his waist in the hopes that nobody would notice.

The journey home was the hardest part.

The afternoon trains were always packed with students from the surrounding schools, and with students inevitably came perverts and molesters hoping to cop a feel under a schoolgirl’s skirt. But they weren’s always after the girls – some of them preferred boys like Tooru, boys with pretty faces and supple, limber bodies. Thankfully, Tooru had never been the target of anyone like that.

He was half-way home when he realised something was wrong. That there was a body far too close to his own and breath grating against his ear. He shuffled a little, his movements made sloppy by his constant arousal, but the stranger followed, crowding him further into the corner of the train carriage.

Tooru bit into his lip as a thick hand caressed his thigh, curling between his legs, the ridge of the palm grinding against his cock. Another hand slid over his chest, finding his nipples and tugging on them. Tooru couldn’t help but moan – the stimulation was too much, especially considering he’d been on edge for most of the afternoon. He knew Wakatoshi wouldn’t be happy that Tooru was letting a pervert molest him on a train, but what could he do? Tooru was too horny to care if someone took him aside and raped his poor little brains out. In fact he was rather hoping they would.

“You’re so pretty,” a gruff voice said in his ear, and Tooru shivered uncontrollably. His eyes had begun to droop and his mouth hung open just a little, his tongue resting against his lower lip. His legs parted for the hand pushed between them and his chest thrust out into the pinching fingers.

His stop came too soon. Tooru staggered off the train and made his way home as quickly as he could. His stepmother was in the kitchen making coffee, and when he passed she looked at him in concern.

“Tooru,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he snapped, though his voice shook, and he dropped his bag to sprint up the stairs to his father’s bedroom.

_ No touching. No cumming. No adjusting the dials.  _ Tooru played the words over and over again as he stripped out of his uniform and scrambled between the sheets, cocooning himself in his father’s scent. Wakatoshi’s pyjamas were under the pillow and Tooru pulled them out to press them against his face, grinding himself desperately against the sheets, the sheer force of his arousal bordering on mind-numbing.

All he could think about was cock. All he wanted was for a cock to stretch him open and fill him to the brim with cum, to breed him, to claim him and to ruin him. He only vaguely heard his mother’s car pull out of the driveway.

Time became meaningless. Tooru was aware of absolutely nothing except his desire until he felt a steady, warm hand against the small of his back.

“Dad!” he gasped, his bleary eyes finding Wakatoshi through the half-darkness of the late afternoon. Immediately, he rose to his knees and flung his arms around his father’s neck, attaching his pretty, wet mouth to Wakatoshi’s. “Dad please fuck me please I’ll  _ die _ –,”

Wakatoshi wrestled the boy off him and lay him down, slipping his tie from around his neck in order to tie Tooru’s wrists to the bedpost. “My, my,” he murmured, inspecting Tooru’s dripping hole. “You’ve made quite a mess of yourself.”

Tooru keened. “A pervert touched me on the t-train,” he stammered as he tried to keep himself up.

“Did he, now?” Wakatoshi seemed entirely unconcerned. “What did he do?”

“H-he touched… he touched my nipples… and m-my legs…”

“Did you like it? Did you like him touching you?”

Tooru nodded, his eyes closing in shame.

That was it.

Wakatoshi tore the tape from around Tooru’s thigh and took the dials into his hand, cranking them up as high as they’d go. The vibrators went crazy inside Tooru’s body and the boy shrieked, his body dropping and writhing in desperation. Teeth clenched, eyes brimming with fat tears.

“What a boy I’ve raised.” Wakatoshi’s voice was tight with displeasure, but he couldn’t help but smirk as he watched the boy groaning and writhing and begging for something to fill him up. He used to be such a good, pure child, but now he was debased, begging for his own father’s dick. “A little whore. If you liked that pervert touching you so much then perhaps I should tie you up where anybody can use you? Would you like that?”

Tooru moaned and shook his head helplessly. Wakatoshi’s kind caresses were the worst sort of punishment. Tooru imagined himself chained up in some public place, his body used by strangers as a toy to fuck and breed their cum into; he imagined himself being so bloated with cum he’d be sick – but even that wouldn’t stop him from being used.

But he wanted Wakatoshi. He needed him.

“I don’t want it,” he gasped. “I want you to fuck me, I’m only yours, I’m yours –,”

Wakatoshi groaned low and long. He couldn’t take seeing his boy begging like this anymore – he worked open the fly of his trousers and released his dick, the thick head already slick with precum. Tooru’s eyes fixed on it and he raised his hips almost on instinct, his delicious little hole winking open and closed.

This is what he’d wanted. He’d wanted Tooru to be his, only his – he’d wanted it ever since the day he was born. He’d been in love with him since the first day he’d held him in his arms and looked down at his tiny wrinkled face – perhaps it had been a different kind of love, but Wakatoshi had never been one for sharing. Not even his son.

Tooru was his. Only his.

He fucked the boy beneath him while the vibrators were still inside. The doubled sensations made Tooru burst into tears, his poor body quivering and thrashing in need. He couldn’t be silent – scream after scream tore from the boy’s throat until his voice went raw and he could only sob, pushing himself back against his father’s cock. He was still crying when he came untouched, his body arching against Wakatoshi’s.

“I love you,” he choked after Wakatoshi pulled out the vibrators, flipped Tooru onto his back and pushed his knees back to his chin, fucking him in long, slow strokes.

“Tooru,” Wakatoshi gasped in return, his hands running over Tooru’s chest, his sides, his hips, working those delightful nipples until they stood peaked and flushed on Tooru’s chest. He came a total of three times that evening – Tooru came many more times than that, and by the time Wakatoshi was done fucking him, he was too exhausted to move.

“Dad,” Tooru breathed as they lay boneless in Wakatoshi’s bed, clustered together, Wakatoshi pressing soothing kisses against his son’s hair. “I want you to get a divorce.”

Wakatoshi paused. “…I can’t do that.”

Tooru’s eyes swam with tears at the answer he knew he’d get. “Who cares! It’s not fair! I have to see you being lovey dovey with that woman all the time – you still fuck her, too!” He sat up, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Fine. As long as you’re married to her then I can get a boyfriend or a girlfriend too, right? I can have sex with them, just like you have sex with  _ her _ .”

Wakatoshi’s hands turned to ice. The thought of someone else kissing his son’s beautiful face or having access to his body –

Tooru had him under his thumb. He’d always had him under his thumb, sure, but this was another level entirely. To divorce his wife… nothing good would come from it. But if he  _ did,  _ then he could have Tooru all to himself  _ all the time _ ; he could fuck him whenever he wanted without the danger of being caught. He could sleep in his bed every night. They could be together, just like he’s promised, just him and Tooru, like it was supposed to be.

Wakatoshi rubbed a hand up Tooru’s back as the boy wiped at his eyes, sniffling.

* * *

The divorce was processed quickly. Wakatoshi’s wife (or ex-wife, now) was too shocked to really put up a fight, and Wakatoshi’s initial deal was far too good for her to reject. She left with a holiday house in France and a new car, happy as a clam.

Nobody knew the real reason why Wakatoshi had divorced her. Nobody would have ever guessed the real reason was his bratty little son. But it was.

“We’ll be together always, right?” Tooru sighed as he sank himself down onto his father’s wet cock, the divorce papers lying forgotten on the carpet from where Wakatoshi had presented them to him like a prize. Wakatoshi groaned and ran his hand up Tooru’s gorgeous, lithe body. Oh, he loved him. He loved him so much.

“Always,” he promised.


End file.
